A Long and Winding Road
by The Moonlily
Summary: To flee from a dreadful fate, she is sent into hiding. But how can she hide her heart from the man who also holds her secret?
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** A Long and Winding Road

 **Rating:** M

 **Pairings:** Éomer/Lothíriel

 **Genre:** Romance/Drama/Angst

 **Summary:** To flee from a dreadful fate, she is sent into hiding. But how can she hide her heart from the man who also holds her secret?

 **Disclaimer:** The Lord of The Rings is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate. This is a work of fanfiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others. No financial profit is made by writing this.

 **Author's Note:** So! I think it's time to serve you, my dear readers new and old, with a brand new full-length Éomer/Lothíriel -story. I've been working on this one for a while now, whenever _King and Lioness_ has given me any peace, but at the moment I believe this new story is going to update about once in a month.

As usual, you may expect some bold moves on my part – though perhaps not quite the level of _A Light that Endures –_ but I will do my best to explain and back up all my choices. In my own view, I'm pretty pleased about my writing in this piece. I hope it will satisfy you as well, my dear readers!

Hope you enjoy, and if you got time, please let me know what you think!

* * *

 _Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together?_  
 _Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences._

\- Emery Allen

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 _March 3018, Dol Amroth_

On a night of March, the sound of distant thunder woke up Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth.

Usually, storms and tempests of the sea did not disturb her dreams. Rather, she found fierce beauty in them; in her childhood, she had often been lulled into sleep by their wild and strange music.

But that night the storm was not a lullaby to summon her to the land of dreams. Instead, its howling and raging seemed to tear at the very walls of her father's palace, trying to bring it down into the sea. It reminded her of the ghost stories Amrothos used to tell her when they were children: that the voices of those drown at the sea would scream and wail in the wind, pleading for release from the dark waves of their final resting place. Erchirion had laughed at the silly stories, but on a night like this, it was easy to believe Amrothos had it right.

So she tossed and turned, waiting desperately for the morning and dawn's light to chase away the storm winds and usher in a new bright day.

It happened at midnight. Thunder was closer now, rolling from the sea to inland, trying to crawl its way over the city by the sea. Lothíriel lay on her side, listening to the fury of the elements and hoping it would pass already. She thought with pity all who were at sea tonight, for surely Ossë was bent on sinking as many ships as he could, with no intervention from the Lady Uinen.

But then lightning stroke, its light so bright it must have hit in the very garden of the palace. And in that flash Lothíriel saw she was not alone in her chamber.

He stood at her door, his broad frame filling it completely. He was tall as an elf-lord, but younger and wilder, as though he had stepped out from some tale of First Age when the world was new and Men's brief lives burned as brilliantly as the very Sun. He was in full armour, which looked like nothing she had ever seen in her life, and his hair was long and tangled, framing a strong bearded face. The lines of his mouth and jaw were those of a man with iron will, but on his brow he carried burdens and a shadow of sadness. It was a face to stick to one's memory even when so briefly glimpsed, and his eyes were keen and fierce, revealing the ardent spirit inside. In his right hand he held a naked blade, and even in the colour-draining light of the storm she could tell it was dripping with blood.

Rationally thinking, Lothíriel knew she was supposed to scream, to alarm guards of this stranger who had somehow made it past all the gates and defences of the palace, but she did not; her eyes were locked with that of the man and for that split second where lightning made all things clear, she could see no threat on his face. Rather, he looked like he had just asked her a question and was waiting for an answer.

Then the second longer than a lifetime was over and darkness fell, leaving her momentarily blind for the contrast between dark and light, and she gasped. With trembling hands she reached to lit up her lamp... but when the warm light of fire grew and pierced the shadow, the man was gone.

* * *

The morning came with such brilliant sunlight and gentle wind that it was hard to believe a terrible storm had raged half the night. When the day's beginning came so fair, Lothíriel was all the more bewildered by the vision of last night. The only way she could explain it was she had been dreaming, though even that did not answer what memory of her life could possibly conjure an image so elaborate. Though she had beheld him only for a second, she was certain she would have been able to describe him in detail.

However, dreams were dreams and she had far more tangible things to concentrate on; so, when she had dressed and braided her hair, she hurried off to join her family for breakfast.

She was the last to arrive in the Prince's private dining hall – a spacious chamber with a long table in the middle, and great windows flooding it with bright sunlight. Father was there, and her brothers, her sister-in-law, and the little Alphros. While all three of her brothers were as tall as their sire, only Elphir and Erchirion took after him in looks. Amrothos was more like their late mother with his curly hair and hazel eyes. As for herself, Father sometimes said she reminded him remarkably of Finduilas, her late aunt.

Though her night had been less than restful, Lothírel entered the hall with smiles and greetings. Once she had bid them good morning and given her father a kiss on his brow, she took her usual seat at the table, though for one reason or the other she did not feel very hungry.

Her father noticed, as was his wont.

"You seem pale and tired. Did the storm keep you up?" he asked her, and she barely had time to nod before Amrothos interjected.

"Well, that's a first. Lothíriel is the only person I know who can sleep tight through a tempest and know nothing", he quipped. She made a face at him but said nothing – for one, she did not think dreams of strange men in her bedchamber were a good topic for family conversations, and Amrothos would have made some crude joke about it.

"I understand her very well. That storm kept me awake as well", Aredhel said, casting a stern glance at her brother-in-law. For one reason or the other, she was the one with most power over Amrothos' more obnoxious moods.

"I suppose it's just the stress of these past few days. I want everything to be perfect when Uncle arrives", Lothíriel said and looked down into her bowl of porridge sweetened with honey, pushing a spoonful into her mouth. She might not feel hungry, but facing the day with an empty stomach would not be a good idea with all the errands she would have to run today. Indeed, this could be what explained her odd dream: she had worked herself into exhaustion, thus giving herself bizarre dreams.

"And you have been working so hard, daughter. Too hard, one might say. While I admit our home has never been tidier or shinier, you must remember to relax every now and then. After all, it's not like we are going to entertain the King of Númenór", Father said, his tone gentle but firm.

"He _is_ the Lord Steward of Gondor, Father", Lothíriel reminded him. That had been the chief thing in her mind while she had been making preparations for the visit of her Uncle Denethor in the city of Dol Amroth. With the frail health of Aredhel, her sister-in-law, Lothíriel had been the head of of the household for two years now, and in her mind, her uncle's visit was the first real test of her knowledge and skills. It had been years since she had last seen her uncle, but she was determined to make a good impression, not least because of her father.

"Why is he coming here now, anyway?" asked Erchirion, the second oldest of Lothíriel's brothers.

"He may be the Steward but we're his family. Why can't he just visit his kin?" Amrothos asked, but his words made Elphir scoff softly. He looked up from his plate of porridge.

"When has uncle ever done anything without a purpose? Not to mention, with all his duties, do you think he'd make courtesy calls even for family?" he stated solemnly. Lothíriel didn't say anything but she agreed with Elphir. Not only was he right about the character of the Lord Steward, she also knew from her Aunt Ivriniel's tales how Uncle Denethor had loved his late wife, Lady Finduilas, who had been the sister of her father and aunt. Apparently, Dol Amroth was a painful reminder of the woman he had lost forever.

But at any rate, if he were to come here on some particular purpose, Lothíriel deemed it would be wise to make sure his welcome was the best they could offer.

"I just wish our cousins could have come too", Amrothos remarked and leant back in his chair, toying with a silver spoon with one hand.

"You know they are very busy with their duties in Minas Tirith, Amrothos", Father said and sipped his tea.

"It's all about duty these days, isn't it? I wish people would sometimes talk about something else", complained the youngest of three princes, but his careless words quickly earned their sire's frown.

"That we do our duty is the reason this realm still stands, though it might not bear the glory and strength our people knew in past. We must not be so thoughtless as to imagine our amusement is more important than that. You would do well to remember this once Lord Denethor arrives, for he has even less tolerance for such nonsense", Father said sternly, making Amrothos blush and mutter something in agreement. The others around the table fell silent, too, and for a while they ate in silence. But Lothíriel staring down at her food could feel the knot becoming tighter in her stomach, and what food she forced in her mouth had no taste.

So when the breakfast came to an end, she was thankful: she could put aside her portion which she had barely touched. There were yet errands to be run before midday, which was the time Uncle Denethor should arrive. Thankfully, she should be too busy to remember her dream and the strange man at her door.

* * *

The family of Prince Imrahil gathered again at midday. Lothíriel barely made it to the courtyard at the assigned time: she had been busy making sure all would run smoothly and that in the kitchens preparations were going as planned, and afterwards she still needed to switch dresses to a more formal attire. Her brothers, unaware of all the work and time that went into managing the household, were fond of making fun of her being late to the official events. But perhaps today's breakfast had impacted their mood just as well, because they were not joking at all when their company gathered in the courtyard of the palace.

Her horse, a chestnut mare named Summer, was saddled ready for her, and she smiled fondly when she thought the animal looked slightly confused. Summer always seemed so when Lothíriel rode her using the side-saddle; while riding astride was her dearest hobby when she was able to get away from her duties, she knew that was not how she could appear to welcome her uncle into the city.

"Are you certain you are well, daughter? You don't have to come with us to the harbour if you don't feel good", came Father's voice from nearby. He was arrayed in silver and blue of their House, just as herself and her brothers, and his raven-dark hair was combed back behind his ears. He had never remarried after her mother had died, though that was not for the lack of hopeful attempts from noble ladies of the realm.

Lothíriel smiled slightly at her father, "I'm fine, Ada. I'm not going to stay back when Uncle comes – it would be rude of me not to be there to welcome him."

Though it had been years since she had last seen the Steward of Gondor, she knew his reputation, and did not think for one second that her absence would go unnoticed by Lord Denethor.

Father's face softened and he reached to give a kiss to her cheek.

"You have done very well, daughter. I am proud of you", he told her and she had to look away to hide her embarrassment.

"I do my best", she told him, busying herself with checking on the buckles of Summer's saddle, though she knew they would be secure.

At Father's signal, the company mounted their horses, and the Prince's family was surrounded by a dozen Swan Knights – some of the finest of warriors in Dol Amroth. Sunlight gleamed on their armours and helmets and soft wind caught at the hems of their blue raiment, on which the silver swanship of Amrothian line was depicted. Often she had watched them from afar and admired them, but now on this morning, she could only think of how different the very air of these men was to the warrior she had dreamt of last night.

She shook herself to be rid of these silly musings and urged her mare to move, and in formation the company rode through the gate of the palace. Though spring had not yet warmed the air, otherwise the day was truly a fair one, and the Sun in the sky was not accompanied by any clouds. It would have been a wonderful weather for riding along the shore, but Lothíriel suppressed that idea. She would be too busy for riding trips as long as Uncle stayed in the city.

So they made way through the city, and by the streets some common folk stopped to watch them pass; on an occasion, Father would lift his hand into a greeting, and crowd would cheer at him. But she received some exclamations as well, and there was one young-looking man yelling: "Hail the Princess Lothíriel, the fairest of ladies in Gondor!"

Though she didn't think he could have seen many noble ladies of Gondor if he thought her the fairest of them, she did smile and wave at him, for whether he was wrong or not it was polite to acknowledge him.

They arrived in the port, where more Swan Knights had already cleared the dock where the Steward would be landing. Many people from the city had gathered, for it was not every day the Lord Denethor visited the southern parts of the realm. In fact, Father said the last time his brother-in-law had stayed in Dol Amroth had been when Lady Finduilas still lived.

"Look! There he comes!" Amrothos said to his sister, pointing at the ship which had started to approach the harbour. She grew larger as she neared and Lothíriel admired the vessel's grace – a testimony to the importance of her passengers. The princess also spotted the standard of the Steward's House, flying proudly in the sea wind.

Less than ten minutes later, the Steward's ship reached the dock, and the cries of gulls were joined by shouts of sailors as they prepared for landing. The deck of the ship was alive with noise and bustle, but even stretching her neck Lothíriel could not yet spot her uncle.

When the ship was securely fastened, silver trumpets sang to announce his arrival, and then Lord Denethor made his appearance. He stood as tall and straight as she remembered him, but his face and greying hair silently spoke of his many burdens. His face was proud and strong rather than kind, and his grey eyes were sharp and cool. His array consisted of dark colours and heavy robes, and only here and there an occasional silver embroidery might lighten his appearance.

But if Uncle's face was that of a stern man, it did melt into a smile when Father approached to greet him. They exchanged an embrace as brothers might and spoke their greetings quietly, resting hands on each others' shoulders.

Then Father spoke, raising his voice: "Please, come and meet my family! You have occasionally met my son Elphir when he has visited Minas Tirith, but rest of my children have much grown since you last saw them."

He lead the Steward to his offspring, who had stood nearby waiting. While her brothers bowed, Lothíriel curtsied, smiling at her mighty uncle. He regarded them keenly, as though he could judge their characters just by looking.

"Your family is flourishing, Imrahil; your sons look as strong as your daughter is fair. I believe the promise I saw in their childhood is now being fulfilled", Denethor said benevolently, even smiling as he spoke. While he could not exactly be called a handsome man, the effect of the smile on his face was spectacular, as it even managed to reveal something gentle about his features. Then his eyes came to rest on Lothíriel and the smile sobered slightly, and a long moment passed by as he watched her. But even as she was thinking she might blush, he looked away once more.

"We are honoured, Lord Uncle", Elphir said as their advocate, and again the four siblings bowed at the mightiest man in the realm.

Father spoke again, inviting Denethor to ride with him to the palace, and Lothíriel let out a small breath now that the Steward's attention was away again. She had not remembered how unsettling it could be to stand before him, though she was fairly pleased with how she had been able to keep her calm. At any rate, she was happy to stay behind when Father and Uncle rode up ahead, leading their entourage. It was over twice as large, for Father's Swan Knights had been joined by the Steward's own guards. Idly she thought this was a company that could have fought a battalion of orcs and survived.

On the way back to the palace, there were more common folk watching them pass, but less cheering than before. Lothíriel guessed it was because while her father was a beloved ruler, Lord Denethor commanded rather their fear than their affection. She could very well see why that was.

In the courtyard of Father's palace, stablemen and servants were already waiting, and an orderly chaos broke out when the entourage arrived. Glad that the formal part was over for the time being and she could concentrate on what she knew well, Lothíriel left Summer in the care of one stableman and watched as her sire lead Lord Denethor inside. Most likely they would be holed up in Prince's study until dinnertime.

"Elbereth, I had forgotten how frightening our uncle can be. Sometimes I just can't believe he fathered Boromir and Faramir", Amrothos said as he came to a halt next to his sister. It was hard to imagine anything dampening his spirits in this way, but she wasn't surprised Lord Denethor had that precise skill.

"Well, Father always said they are more Aunt Finduilas' sons than Uncle Denethor's", she said and shrugged, though she did understand what her brother meant. It was slightly terrifying to imagine being brought up by the Steward.

Her brother made a face and patted her shoulder absent-mindedly.

"I do so look forward to dinner tonight", he muttered, making her cringe as well.

"You do? At least you're not the one who has had to plan that dinner", Lothíriel muttered and picked up her skirts. She had still plenty of things to attend to before the dinner could be served.

"My poor sister", Amrothos said dramatically. "What powers did you offend to deserve such a lot in life?"

She snorted and turned her back at him, deciding his foolish words did not deserve an answer. However, at the time of his air-headed comment, Lothíriel had no idea of how many times she would come to ask herself that very question.

* * *

As evening fell, the family of Prince Imrahil gathered once more in the dining hall. Usually, their meals together were not very formal occasions, and Lothíriel herself might make an appearance windblown in her riding attire. However tonight, even Amrothos' manners were mild and quiet.

"There's something about our uncle that makes me feel like laughing out loud in his presence would be a very bad idea", he muttered to Lothíriel when they entered side by side.

"Stop whispering to me!" she told him and organised a serene smile on her face. In the hall, she cast around one last look to make sure all was in place, and once she was reassured, she invited the company to take their seats about the long table. Father and Lord Denethor claimed places at the heads of it, while the Prince's children took seats around them. At her signal, the leading table servant opened the doors and the smells of food filled the hall as pots and dishes were carried in.

To her great relief, the dinner went by smoothly, and their guest appeared to be on a good mood – in fact, Lothíriel did not think she had ever seen Lord Denethor smile so much. Even the conversations remained pleasant, without a barest mention of wars or troubled tidings, which came more often than not these days. If battles were mentioned, it was entirely about victorious ones in the past, and Father and the Steward reminisced on some of their finest hours as warriors.

When the dessert was served, Lord Denethor shifted on his seat and fixed his eyes on her, and meeting the gaze she could see some warmth there. It eased her mind somewhat, and she smiled at him.

"Lothíriel", he called her name and toasted his glass of wine.

"Lord Uncle", she answered, bowing her head before returning his gesture.

"Your father tells me you had planned this dinner, in addition to the upkeep of myself and my entourage", he said and considered her in a way that somehow reminded her of when they had met him at the docks, though perhaps he did not consider her quite as keenly now.

"Yes, my lord. I have been managing his household for two years now", she answered, feeling the eyes of her brothers on herself. She did not turn her own gaze away, though.

Her answer made Denethor lift up his eyebrows.

"From such a young age? Your manners and prowess compliment your father, Lothíriel", he said and lifted his glass once more.

"I do what I can to help", she stated. Her uncle nodded quietly, as though he had just received an answer to some question that had long been in his mind.

"Indeed, Imrahil, you can be proud of your daughter", he said, moving his eyes away from the princess once more. She breathed silently, wondering what that exchange had just been about.

"And that I am, my lord", Father smoothly retorted and flashed a quick smile at his daughter. She returned it, deciding she could stop worrying about the success of tonight. She was already thinking Lord Denethor had nothing more to tell her, when he suddenly looked back at her again.

"Lady Lothíriel, may I ask a favour of you?" he inquired, making her look at him quickly.

"Of course, Lord Uncle", she said before even having time to ponder what could he want from her. His smile, however, was reassuring.

"If it does not interfere too much with your daily labours, I would much appreciate if you had time to show me around in the gardens tomorrow after breakfast. I'd like to see if it still looks the same as the last time I visited Dol Amroth", he said, and for a moment his words had her in stunned silence. The Lord Steward of Gondor, interested in gardens and flowerbeds?

She felt someone kicking her under the table – Amrothos probably, seeing he sat next to her – and Lothíriel shook her head to clear out her confusion.

"Of course, my lord. I'd be happy to show you around", she said quickly.

Denethor's smile widened slightly and he nodded once more in satisfaction. His attention turned back to her father and she looked down at her half-eaten dessert. She may be his kin, but she knew how rare it was for a lady to receive such attention from the Steward of Gondor.

Once the dinner was done, and Father was about to go and escort their guest to his chambers, he stopped briefly by his daughter. Resting a hand on her shoulder, he spoke softly, "You did well, Lothíriel... I do not remember when I've last seen him smiling so much. Thank you."

"It's nothing, Father", she whispered back, and she smiled when he reached to kiss her brow before telling her good night.

It was late already by the time she finally retired into the quiet of her own chamber, her mind too restless to consider sleep. The day had been a long one and it had given her much food for thought... but one question in particular was burning her mind. For as Lothíriel sat by her window and gazed out to see the calm night sky, so quiet compared to the storm that had kept her awake only twenty-four hours ago, she had to wonder.

What precisely had fuelled her dream of last night, and what did it signify that the strange man should appear to her on the eve of her uncle's visit?

* * *

Next morning at the time of breakfast, Lothíriel had already been up and about for a couple of hours. She had again slept fitfully, though no visions of unfamiliar men had made appearances in her bedchamber, and risen with the sun to make sure things would run smoothly in the household. As she didn't know how long the Steward would be requiring her, she had wanted to make sure her absence would not halt the running tasks of the palace's maintenance.

Lord Denethor continued to be on a fine mood, and when they had finished eating breakfast, he gracefully asked if she were available for the promised stroll in the gardens. She curtsied at him and conjured up a smile, though she was not entirely delighted with the idea of having to be alone with such an intimidating man. But she kept her silence and lead the way to the gardens of her father's palace.

As it was March, the gardens were not exactly in their brightest glory. Nonetheless, it was still rather beautiful and peaceful, and the trees and the adornments were a sight to see even before spring. The gardens had been the pride of her mother and in her memory, the place had been kept the way she had ordered it years ago. Because of this, it was the gardens were Lothíriel would feel closest to her late mother.

It also provided her with a way to start a conversation and end the awkward silence that had grown between herself and the Steward, who looked a bit like he had forgotten her presence; she guessed this was as much a site of memory for him as it was for her. Sometimes, it was difficult to believe a man like him might once have loved someone enough to mourn them so deeply.

"Does it look at all like it used to be, my lord?" she asked him, making the Steward glance at her sharply. There was steel in that look, but it quickly softened again.

"Some things remain as I remember them, Lothíriel. But much has changed, as I knew to expect. It has been a long time since I last strolled in this garden", he said at length. The princess thought to ask about her aunt Finduilas, but Father had said it was painful for her uncle to remember his late wife, so she decided not to pry.

"Many things have changed indeed, and not just here", Lord Denethor went on and looked ahead before turning his eyes at her once more. "You have changed too, Lady Lothíriel. Last I saw you in Minas Tirith, you were a child. Now you have become a woman."

"It has been many years, Lord Uncle", Lothíriel said warily, unsure of where this conversation was headed.

"Indeed it has. But at that time I did not see what promise you held... you see, as I look at you now, you bear great resemblance to my Lady Finduilas, who was the fairest of roses that grew on our southern shores", said her uncle, and her first thought was to argue that what similarity there was between her and her late aunt was only in their appearances, and even then she did not have her aunt's famous grace. But be it as may, according to Father, hers and Finduilas' characters were entirely different. However, before she could speak, she realised this was probably supposed to be a compliment on the Steward's part, considering how he held his late wife as the prime example of accomplished womanhood.

"Thank you, my lord", she merely said, hiding her hands inside the wide sleeves of her gown. It was more lavish than the clothing she'd use in her daily chores, but the presence of the Steward called for some formality.

They walked in silence for a little while, until Lord Denethor spoke again.

"You have already shown you are quite capable mistress of the household. What of the rest of your upbringing? I trust your father has provided you with an extensive education?" he inquired.

"Yes, Lord Uncle. I have been schooled since I was small – I am fluent in Sindarin and Westron, and I can read and write in Quenya. I know the histories and genealogies of Gondor and Arnor and also of Rohan. I also joined my brothers for their lessons in arithmetic and politics, and..." she explained, but her answer was interrupted by the man striding next to her.

"Politics? Your father schooled you in politics?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"It was my grandfather's wish, my lord", she said and lowered her eyes.

"That is unusual, Lothíriel, though perhaps I should not be surprised. Late Prince Adrahil was well known for his love of knowledge..." Denethor spoke, his voice slowly trailing off as his brow furrowed in deep thought. Then he made another question, "What other skills do you have?"

"I am a fairly good rider, my lord, and I know some archery", she answered, deciding not to mention she could beat her brothers horseback any time she wanted, as it wouldn't do to boast. Still, she couldn't help but wonder what was the purpose of these questions, though she didn't know if it would be wise to ask. She would have to talk about this with her father... perhaps he had some insight she did not possess, as he had known Lord Denethor for most of his life.

"You are indeed an accomplished young woman, Lothíriel. Your father can be proud, having raised such a daughter", he said, interrupting her musings. She bowed her head.

"Thank you, Lord Uncle", she said simply and glanced at him. On his face she could see a strange smile, and for one reason or the other, it made a shiver run down her spine.

She was starting to feel Elphir had been more right than he realised when he had suggested this was everything but a visit by courtesy.

* * *

The week Lord Denethor visited in the court of Prince Imrahil was as busy as Lothíriel had imagined it to be. A guest of such high standing was no small matter, and his presence caused a dozen occasions of various magnitudes. There were picnics and hunting trips and even a short cruise near the coast, all of which had taken tremendous time of planning. Altogether Lothíriel felt she'd be relieved when her uncle headed home again.

Most nights she made it to bed exhausted to the bone, but before falling asleep, she did wonder to herself if dreams might grant her another sight of the strange man who had appeared in her room the night before Denethor's arrival, if only to solve the mystery of why should he emerge in such a way only to vanish again. However, that week she slept without seeing any dreams, which oddly disappointed her. Maybe a man so peculiar could only be conjured by a force as elemental as thunder and lightning.

Then at last came the final day of Lord Denethor's stay in the city by the sea, and it was also the day that would turn Lothíriel's life upside down.

Much of it went by in a chaotic blur, as she ran from one place to the other making sure all would run smoothly in the night's ball, to which many of the noble families of southern Gondor had been invited. In her haste, she remained blissfully unaware of what was to take place only in few hours, and it was also the reason she sensed nothing wrong about a servant's announcement that her father had requested her presence before the beginning of the ball.

So, when she was done dressing and had received reports all was running smoothly, she made way through the halls for the Prince's study, where he had asked her to join him. When she knocked at the door, his voice called her to enter.

Lothíriel stepped in, glancing quickly about the chamber in which generations of Amrothian princes had made their plans and policies. A massive desk sat near the great window, from where one could gaze at the sea, and on walls there were maps of lands near and far, plans and drawings of ships, nautical charts, and a dozen other such things. Near the window there was a bookshelf, which held the Prince's own reference library, and across the desk stood two chairs for guests. One chair was occupied by Lord Denethor himself, while Father stood staring out of the window, his back turned towards her.

"You asked to see me, Father?" Lothíriel spoke, her voice mildly curious, as she could not guess what was the reason for her presence here – and why it warranted Lord Denethor should be here, too.

"I did indeed", he said and the colour of his voice immediately caught her attention. The last time she had heard him sounding so unhappy had been just after Grandfather had died. As he turned, she could see the deep frown on his face, and it did nothing to console her. He continued, "Your uncle here has something he'd like to tell you."

Lothíriel turned quickly towards the Steward, who sat motionless, though he wore a smile on his face – that same strange smile she had seen in the gardens.

"Lord Uncle?" she spoke warily, growing more uneasy with every passing moment.

"Child, I suppose you may have wondered about my presence here in your home city at this time – I know it is a common understanding I do not lightly leave Minas Tirith and my many duties there. However, the task that brought me here has overrun others in importance, and after this week I deem it is the right time to speak my intention to you", he started, sounding a bit like he was speaking to a large audience. Meanwhile, Father looked like a man who is being stabbed but tries to smile nevertheless.

"And what is it, my lord?" Lothíriel asked, looking back at the Steward again, though she didn't feel like she really wanted to know what he had in mind.

Uncle leant back in his chair and looked at her closely.

"As Imrahil's daughter I'm sure you are well aware of the circumstances in our world, and your schooling in politics must have left you with certain understanding of how the situation grows more dire with each passing day. Here in Dol Amroth your eyes look to the sea and beyond, and often it is the sea where your challenges come from", he continued, and she had to fight an urge to tell him to get to his point.

It was as if he knew what she was thinking, because he continued, "Your father has sent me reports of corsairs increasing their attacks on our shores. It has troubled me long, but I believe I have been able to solve this dilemma to all our satisfaction. You see, the corsairs have agreed to consider a peace between our peoples, but only if a particular alliance is made. That is, of course, the marriage between yourself and one corsair lord Bartas, who is very powerful among Umbarian people."

For the longest time, all Lothíriel could do was just stare at her uncle, wondering if this was some kind of a jest. But then, Lord Denethor was not exactly known for his sense of humour, and for a joke this was bizarre. So, uncertainly she looked at her sire for support and explanation, "Father?"

His face was dark and the usual glimmer of his grey eyes was smothered.

"I'm afraid it is as your uncle says, daughter. Your hand has been promised to an Umbarian pirate", he said grimly, and his choice of words made Lord Denethor scoff softly.

She did more than just scoff. When her voice finally came out, it was in a shriek.

"No! I will not agree to it!" she said, jumping back from these two men she had _trusted,_ whom she thought she could rely on...

"Lady Lothíriel", said the Steward, his voice holding mild annoyance now, "It has already been negotiated and agreed on. The date of your wedding has been set as well, and it will take place at the end of June."

"Father! Did you allow this?!" she shouted, taking another step back.

"No, daughter – I only heard of this today, for your uncle did not see fit to ask my opinion -" he started, casting a sharp glance at his brother-in-law, who ignored him. The Steward stood up on his feet.

"You were born the Princess of Dol Amroth, Lothíriel, which makes you the highest-ranking lady of your generation, and so you must be ready to bear burdens others cannot. I was under the impression you were raised to understand your duty to your people and land", he said sternly.

"I was not raised into thinking duty is being sold to our enemies like cattle!" she yelled at him, her mouth bitter with the taste of rage and betrayal.

"Princess Lothíriel -" Lord Denethor started, but she did not let him finish.

"I will not do it! You may rest assured of _that!"_ she snapped, and then she ran.

* * *

The weather outside suited well her mood. On the other hand, there was also something comforting about the soft patter of rain against her window; she sat on the window board, knees against her chest and her forehead pressed against the cold glass. It all seemed like a strange nightmare, and she was desperately hoping to wake up... to realise it was just her imagination coming up with insane things. However, as moments ticked by, she became more and more aware of the terrible future her uncle had designed for her.

The men of her line had been fighting pirates for many generations. Every day, she would see ships setting sail or returning to the port of Dol Amroth. Sometimes, they would not return at all. She knew the wrecked villages and towns along the coast, like dwellings of ghosts – and people who came begging at the gates of Dol Amroth, for they had lost all they had to corsairs. So many lives had gone into the endless fight between the pirates and Gondor... there was hatred beyond human comprehension between her people and the corsairs, and only a man far from inland might believe it could be amended by marrying her off to some pirate lord.

Angry tears filled her eyes and her blood boiled once more as she thought how Father could have allowed this. She could not think he would believe in such an alliance even for a moment, and yet he had not tried to stand up for her? That was not the father she knew and loved.

Lothíriel hugged her knees tightly and closed her eyes, trying to fight her despair. Banging at the door had died, and she guessed it had been her brothers; maybe it had been the Steward's idea all along to announce the damned plan in the ball, and he had expected her to play the part of the blushing bride. She could not do this – she wouldn't walk into such a fate willingly. But what could she do if not even her father would protect her?

* * *

Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth had known from the beginning something was afoot; as his first-born had guessed, the Steward of Gondor did not visit for courtesy. He had known this from the moment Lord Denethor had sent messages about visiting the home of his brother-in-law, and in his mind he had entertained several different scenarios of what it could be. At any rate, he had not thought it would be so serious, and because of that, he had not spoken of his doubts even to Elphir his heir.

He had not guessed he would be so unpleasantly surprised... and yet a part of him was not at all so, because he had known for a long time that Lord Denethor was a proud, calculating man – even ruthless sometimes. And as the shadow kept growing, so did the burden his brother-in-law had to carry on his shoulders.

 _Desperate times breed desperate men, my son,_ Prince Adrahil had said long ago. How right the had been!

Imrahil had endured the ball, but only with serious effort and gritting his teeth against the anger he felt. It was too soon to react or do anything – acting rashly was the last thing he wanted, because Lothíriel's life and freedom were at stake, and she was the one who would pay for his wrong move.

She had not attended the celebration, for which he could not blame her. Consequently, she was not present when Lord Denethor made the fateful announcement... or to see the outrage on the faces of her brothers. As the Prince of Dol Amroth arrived in his study and fell to sit in his chair, he knew there would be hell to pay in the morning. The only reason they had not cornered him yet was because they were smart enough not to cause a scandal before the nobility of the realm.

Wearily he poured himself a glass of wine, thinking of this hopeless situation and what he could do. He knew he could not let Lothíriel walk into a fate so bleak, and yet... what choice did he have? The Steward of Gondor was the mightiest man in the land, and what he said went by. And if Imrahil tried to publicly oppose him, dreadful things might follow, for the shadow of war grew darker and steeper with every day and the realm was already struggling to survive.

Imrahil could hide his daughter, yes... but Denethor would expect that, and he would turn all the Prince's holdings upside down to find her. Was there a place in Gondor where she might be safe? He seriously doubted that.

A place in Gondor... _no._ The world was still wider than that.

The idea occurred to him as though a lightning had struck. He moved so fast, he nearly spilled his wine. He put it aside on the table and quickly pulled open the lowest drawer of his desk. There, under various objects and parchments, he found the small chest.

Most objects inside the chest might have made an outsider wonder why the Prince Imrahil would own such sentimental things. A curl from his wife's hair, sea shells she had picked up for him, small shiny stones Lothíriel had found from the beach when she had been a small girl, the treasure map Amrothos had drawn many years ago... it didn't matter what anyone would have thought, because all these little things stood for memories he had fondly kept in his heart. But now he was looking for one particular object, kept safe here for a long time, and the meaning of which only one person other than him would understand.

Then his fingers felt the smooth surface of what he had been looking for and he lifted it up to see it. And there it was, just as he remembered it from many years ago: the small rearing stallion of _mearas,_ carved from light wood, and given to him as a token of friendship that would last forever.

Now had come time for him to find out if that promise still held true.

 _To be continued._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The sound of knocking came late, well after midnight had passed. Lothíriel had fallen asleep on her seat on the window board, curled up there in her misery and despair. The sudden noise startled her and nearly made her fall, and clumsily she rose, trying to blink sleep and stickiness of dried tears from her eyes.

"Who is it?" she asked, though she had to wonder if it would have been better not to answer and give the silent treatment to the person behind her door. She had a very good idea of who it might be.

"It is me, daughter. Will you let me in?" asked the voice of her father from the other side of the door, confirming her suspicion. In any other situation his pleading tone would have melted her heart. Now, however, it had another impact entirely.

Lothíriel glared at the door, as though her gaze could penetrate it and drill through the faithless skull of her father. The thought nearly brought her anger into a new blaze.

"I don't want to speak with you. Go away", she told him as harshly as she could.

"Lothíriel, I know you are upset, and you are so for a very good reason, but you must listen to me. I need to talk with you", he pleaded gently, making her frown – only he could possibly sound like that at the face of distress. Still she didn't answer, and he spoke again, "Please, my child. It is very important that we talk."

The urgent edge of his voice could not be missed and she sensed there was something on his mind... something very urgent indeed. Maybe he did have some explanation for her after all? So, after one more moment of hesitation, she made way to her door and unlocked it. He stood right behind it, and when she opened the door, a gentle look came to his face.

"May I come in, Lothíriel?" he asked softly.

"Very well", she muttered and let him enter the room, but she locked the door once more when they were alone. Father moved heavily through the chamber, and his expression showed he was just as unhappy as herself. However, he was the one who had allowed it in the first place, so she could not feel much sympathy for him.

When the door was closed, he turned to look at her again.

"Your uncle had the news announced at the ball. I must say, it created quite a stir", he said then, sounding like he was desperately trying to come up with a way to start this conversation.

Lothíriel glared at him as frostily as she could.

"Well, I'm glad my misfortune has given people something to talk about in their leisure!" she snapped coldly.

"Daughter, none of this is my doing", he reminded her, but his words did not impress her.

"Technically it is, considering you have done nothing to prevent it! You didn't even try to talk him out of it!" she answered, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Who said I was going to allow it?" Father asked her and her brow furrowed as she tried to understand his meaning. What was this now?

He sighed then and looked away, "I have no intention of letting Denethor sell my only daughter to those murderous thieves down south. I have spent my entire life fighting them, just as my father before me, and I know all too well that they are not going to honour any alliance, be it by marriage or not. If Umbar may ally with anyone, it is with the Enemy that grows in the shadow of east... and the only thing to come out of your marriage to one of their pirate lords is they will try to use you somehow. Soon, we would have some corsair scoundrel here on our doorstep, claiming they have right to the very seat of Galador!"

Lothíriel's frown deepened.

"Didn't you tell this to uncle?" she asked him.

"I tried, daughter, Elbereth knows that I did! But you know how he is... when your uncle sets his mind on something, he won't listen to anyone. Finduilas was the only one who held any sway over him, and she's not here to help us", he said, shaking his head. The frown on his face deepened, "Lothíriel, your uncle is convinced that marrying you off to this Bartas will help us to build peace between Gondor and Umbar. You must understand none of this is out of malice; it is simply because Denethor grows more uneasy and desperate with each day that passes. He knows war is coming – tomorrow, next year, or the next one... the timing doesn't matter when it's inevitable, but he thinks he can improve our chances if Umbar stands with us. Denethor is determined to form this union in order to save our world."

"But you don't think it will help anything", she said softly, her arms falling down to her sides.

"No, I don't", Father said heavily and rubbed his face.

"Then what do you mean to do? Tell Uncle that you won't agree to his plan?" she asked him, unsure of where this all was going. It terrified her, to think that on her agreement might hang the very fate of her home...

"I could try to oppose him publicly. But to be honest I have no idea of how that would end, or if your uncle would be determined to carry out with his plan despite my objections. It seems so to me, considering he has already negotiated this so called marriage – I do not think he will let his efforts go to waste, if he can help it. At any rate, one thing would surely follow: disunity would grow in Gondor, perhaps even tear deep wounds into this realm which is already hanging on a balance. I can't allow that, daughter. For we live in a time of danger, and the enemy we both know is eager for our ruin. And ruin is what would surely follow if I now stand to oppose the Steward of Gondor", he explained her, looking at her straight now. "Daughter, I am telling all this so that you may understand what is on my mind, and why I would suggest such a thing. We are in a tight spot, but I do believe I have a way to solve this tangle, and do it in a way that doesn't require you to marry anyone. Lothíriel, the only way we can avoid both your marriage _and_ your uncle's wrath is if we hide you."

"Hide me? Where? How?" she wanted to know, and in her heart sudden hope was lit.

"Lothíriel, what I'm speaking of is dangerous and probably treasonous, too. But it is the only way I can think of protecting you from the fate your uncle has prepared for you. My dear child, Lord Denethor will not be forcing you into a marriage if he believes you are _dead,_ and if he has no reason to think otherwise", he answered, looking like it pained him greatly to speak these words.

"I don't understand", she whispered and her sudden hope flickered, close to dying so soon after being born.

He sighed again and took her by hands, leading her to sit by the fireplace, where dying embers still lingered. He held her hands in his own and looked at her carefully when he started to speak again.

"Daughter, many years ago when your grandfather still lived, he sent me to Minas Tirith with a troop of Swan Knights. You see, orcs had been growing bolder and stronger, and they were assaulting the eastern borders increasingly often. Lord Denethor planned a strong and fierce strike against them, and he asked help not only from my father but also from the King of Rohan. Théoden answered the calls and sent riders to help us in the campaign. They were lead by a man named Marshal Éomund, and he is one of the finest warriors I've ever had honour fighting with, my child", he explained in a soft, slow voice, and she listened eagerly, wondering where this all would lead.

He continued, "One night during the campaign, my men and I were ambushed by orcs. We would likely have fallen to the last man, but Éomund and his riders came to our aid. He saved my life that night, daughter. Fighting and bleeding together is a strong bond for warriors, and after that fateful battle, a friendship grew between myself and Éomund. We were close as brothers, though our worlds could not have been more different."

A faint smile visited his face and he sat silent for a while before speaking again, "The campaign came to its victorious end and Rohirrim were set to leave home again. However, my friend and I swore everlasting friendship between our Houses, and he gave me a token of his good will. Upon his departure, Éomund told me that if I ever needed his help again, I would only have to send word to him. Many years has passed since then, and I never saw my friend again, but I do trust him still. Rohirrim have long memory and they are famed for their honour, and for keeping their promises."

"So you mean to set up my death and send me to Rohan", Lothíriel concluded, staring at her father with wide eyes. Who could have guessed her father might come up with something so crafty?

He sighed and leant back slightly, looking at her with tired, sad eyes.

"I know it's not a flawless plan, my dear child, and the road to Rohan is not without dangers. If there were an easier and safer way thwart Denethor's intentions, I would choose it in a heartbeat. But this is the only way to remove you from your uncle's power – he has no authority in Rohan, and I know Éomund will protect you like you were his own daughter", he said gravely, picking up her hands once more. He looked at them for a moment before searching her eyes, "What do you say, Lothíriel? Are you willing to take this risk?"

"I... I don't know", she said at length, feeling too bewildered to say anything coherent. Her brow furrowed, "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"There is a choice between following my plan, and agreeing to your uncle's idea", Father said, grimacing as he spoke. But then his expression became gentle again, "Lothíriel, I will not make you do anything. It's your life we are talking about, and if you don't wish to seek this perilous path to Rohan, then I will respect your choice. However, in that case I may not be able to keep you from being married to the Umbarian."

Lothíriel sighed and looked down for a while, feeling as though all that she had known, everything that was familiar to her, was slowly being snipped away from her – like threads cut loose and left drifting. Dare she place her trust in a man she had never even met? Could she take this road to preserve her freedom, her right to choose her own fate? Whatever would happen next, she knew one thing for sure: she would have to be braver than she had ever been in her life.

She lifted up her eyes and looked straight at her sire. When she spoke, it was in a hard tone, "Like I said: I don't have a choice."

* * *

 _Late April 3018, Anduin_

In times before, spring had always been Lothíriel's favourite time of year. She loved to watch the world wake up into blooming again, to feel the warmth grow in the air. Well, that was what she had used to love; this year, she had barely noticed the arrival of her favourite season. It had been the shortest one and a half months of her life, but bizarrely it had also been the longest.

As she stood on the deck of the ship meant to take her to Minas Tirith watching the sun creep towards west, she knew exactly why time had seemed both urgent and slow at the same time. It had been urgent because of all the many preparations she and her father had needed to see to, and slow because each day dragged towards what could be her demise. And now, on this evening, was at last nearing the moment when she would have to take her leap of faith.

After one and a half mont's time, they had set sail from Dol Amroth; as far as Lord Denethor knew, Lothíriel was sailing to Minas Tirith with her father in order to prepare for her impending marriage with Bartas, to consult maps and books of the Citadel, and purchase goods for long journey south. She had already read countless scrolls in Dol Amroth, but those had to do with what was known of Rohan in Gondor. She had studied their history, their relationships with Gondor and Dunlendings, and planned her role as a merchant's sister: the Swan Knights Father would send with her would be both her guard and her disguise.

As for Father, he had sought his memory for everything that could help her, and he had told her as much as he could recall of Marshal Éomund's stories of Rohan. He had also provided her guards with the documents and goods they would need to start a business in Aldburg, where they would set up their shop in the guardianship of his Rohirric friend. He had written a letter to the man to explain the situation and to ask for help, and to Lothíriel he had given the token of friendship which Éomund had given him. It was a figure of a rearing horse, small enough to stand on her palm, and made of light wood. The craftsmanship was very beautiful and detailed – apparently, Rohirrim loved to work with wood.

"He will remember this, for he had made it with his own hands. Éomund said it is a stallion of _mearas,_ and they are a very important symbol to his people. I think it should make him benevolent towards you", Father had said when he pressed the token in her hand.

Unsurprisingly, the hardest part was her brothers. Firstly, they were furious with their sire. Secondly, they could not believe she was apparently just going to succumb to the fate Uncle Denethor had prepared for her. But as much as she wanted to tell them the truth, Father had said fewer the people who knew the truth, the better. And if the grief of her brothers was genuine when news of her demise spread, then the Steward would not have a reason to suspect foul play.

"I know, daughter – I do not like having to cause pain to your brothers. But I don't fear pain, if it can buy your safety, and I think they would agree if it were possible to share this secret with them. Hopefully, one day they _will_ do just that", he told her solemnly when she voiced her concern. She had looked at him, trying to fight her tears.

"Do you think that is possible? That I can come home one day?" she asked him.

Her father looked at her just as sorrowfully as she felt.

"I hope so, Lothíriel. I have to believe it – otherwise, I do not know what this should count for, nor could I bear to send you on this road", he said in heavy tones and reached to kiss her brow. Then he looked at her, in control of his emotions once more, "Just stay close to Marshal Éomund for the time being. I promise I will send word as soon as possible... when the Umbarians think you're gone, they will lose interest, and your uncle will have to abandon his mindless plan of trying to win their good will. Hopefully, you won't have to hide for very long."

And so she had said goodbye to her brothers, and the only thing she had been able to tell them was she loved them. They did not yet know what parting lay ahead, though Erchirion looked like some sense of foreboding was on him, and he hugged her tighter and longer than the others. Elphir was quiet and grave, and Amrothos refused altogether to say anything to their father, who looked like someone had died. Then she and Father had boarded the ship, making her feel like yet another thread of her life was mangled beyond recognition. It was a wonder she was able to make it under the deck before she burst in tears.

Now, a few days into the voyage, she felt like Dol Amroth was far behind. The unknown was before her, and she had no idea of what would happen on her way there. She may have read what books and scrolls there were on Rohan in her father's library, but that knowledge would only help her so much. Indeed, it was true what she had realised on the night of the ball: she would have to be braver than she had ever been in her life... braver than she had thought possible.

Quiet steps from behind her interrupted her thoughts, and her father came to stand next to her by the railing of the ship, where she had been staring into distance and thinking about the insane course had life had recently taken. He looked at her with that same bittersweet look on his face he had been wearing for a month now.

"Are you ready, daughter?" he asked her quietly, and she gave him a weak smile.

"I am as ready as I can be, Father", she told him, gripping the railing a little tighter.

"I wish I could do more to help you", he said with a soft sigh and kept his eyes firmly fixed on her, as though to drink in these last moments before the painful parting. "I wish there was some other way."

"I wish so too, but it's too late to turn now", she said, shaking her head. Indeed, two hours after sunset, a boat would glide silently next to the ship... she would climb down there, and her life as she knew it would end. Well, Princess Lothíriel's life would end, but the life of Daerien, sister of a merchant, would begin.

He wrapped his arms about her shoulders and she leant close to him, to take these last moments when she could still be a scared little girl. From the nightfall on, she would have to count on her own strength and endurance.

"My dear daughter... I'm so sorry about all this. I'm sorry I can't protect you, like I should", he mumbled, and she could hear close he was to tears. All this time, she had been focused on how afraid she was, how unsure was her road from here... and she had not stopped to think what it might cost him to send her away this way. He would have to deal with what would happen when the realm would think her dead, to face her brothers' anger and grief...

"It's all right. At least you've given me a chance", she whispered, holding him tight. She looked up at him, her brow creasing, "My brothers... they will blame you. They will think you drove me to death by doing nothing."

"I know, and I do not look forward to it", he said gently, blinking his eyes. "However, knowing you are safe and far away from that Umbarian will help me to bear this burden."

Was that enough? She had no idea. But she knew she'd have to be content with it as weeks and months spread before her, far away from her family.

"Do you think you could tell them the truth after a while when the dust has settled?" she asked him carefully.

"Perhaps. I will see what happens once you have vanished... there is no sense in having your brothers suffer needlessly", he said, nodding as though to himself. "Don't worry. I will take care of everything."

He looked at her gently and brushed a hand across her cheek, and he spoke in soft tones, "Just be careful and don't take any unnecessary risks. Promise me that, daughter."

"I will, Father."

* * *

Night came all too soon.

She and her father had eaten supper together for one last time, and then they had sat near to a round window, which was open, listening to the night... and waiting for the signal it was time to go. As darkness fell and the ship's crew retired under the deck, the inevitable also came nearer.

Lothíriel sat next to her father, their hands linked for these last harrowing moments. His eyes kept returning to her like he could not see enough of her at this time, and though she tried to smile, her expression became a pained more often than not. At some point, Father reminded her she didn't have to do this, that there was still time to change her mind. However, she shook her head.

"More than this path, I fear becoming a pirate's wife", she told him, and she saw he couldn't argue with that.

So they waited, sitting side by side: she next to her bag which held all that she would take with her into her exile, and he holding a hank of rope that he'd use to lower her into the boat. Lothíriel had gone through her bag so many times she had already lost count, to make sure she would have all she'd need. Her most prized and important possessions – the horse figure, letter for Éomund, some gold for emergencies, her father's ring if a situation rose she'd have to reveal herself – she carried in a small purse by her belt. Hopefully, their preparations would allow her to live as comfortably as possible in the strange land where she was headed.

The signal they had been waiting came at midnight. It was soft hooting, like an owl's call in the night, carrying over the waters of Anduin. Lothíriel exchanged a look with her father, and though he said nothing, she could see what he was thinking: that this was her last chance to turn back. However, she smiled at him and shook her head. She had already made her choice.

The corridor beyond his cabin was quiet and dark, and they saw no one on their way up to the deck. Father went first, in case they should cross some crew members – he would be able to send them on their way with nary a question. Fortunately, they were able to get to the deck and then the larboard side of the ship unnoticed. A few clouds sailed across the face of the Moon, but otherwise it was a clear night, which should ease her way when she had left the ship and joined her guards.

When Lothíriel peeked down, she could see the little boat waiting for her next to the ship, and the two Swan Knights assigned to carry her away. She dropped her bag to the one sitting on front and he caught it without a noise, setting it before himself. But now had come the hardest part of this all, or so she thought of it: telling goodbye to her father.

She couldn't say for sure as it was so dark, but it looked a lot like he was once more close to tears. Even so, he told her to hurry.

"We have to be quick. No one must see you leave this ship", he whispered to her as he offered her rope by which he'd lower her down. A thousand little things came to her mind that she should still tell him, but she knew there was no time. So she said the simplest, the most important thing.

"I love you, Father. I'll be all right", she promised, hugging him tight.

"I love you too, Lothíriel", he mumbled back, his voice close to breaking. "Just be careful."

Swallowing hard to be rid of the lump in her throat, she took the rope and climbed over the railing. Then he began to lower her down, carefully releasing rope to keep her descend steady. All the way down she kept her eyes up so that she could see his face in moonlight, to take this last image of him with her... for who knew when and if she'd see him again?

The hands of the second knight reached her, helping her to settle on the free seat on the boat. The moment her feet touched the floorboards, she could feel the rope giving out and falling, and then she heard her father's voice from above: "Oh, it's nothing. I was just stretching my legs before going to bed. Everything's quite fine..."

Apparently, his words were effective: whoever had wondered about the Prince's late night activities did not come to the railing or glimpse the little boat below. Even so, the three sat still and held their breaths to wait for the moment to pass... the current caught hold of the boat and pushed it down river to the opposite direction from the ship.

The two knights took their oars, and just as quietly as they had rowed next to the vessel, they began to do so again. The distance grew and they floated deeper into the shadows... and farther away from the life Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth, had known until this night.

* * *

The plan was essentially rather simple.

Father had announced she and him would travel to Minas Tirith – a perfectly reasonable thing to do, considering she had many preparations to make before marrying Bartas at the end of June. But before they would begin their journey, he sent her guard before them: they would travel as far as the place where River Erui joined Anduin, and wait there for the Prince's ship one and a half week later. As there were plenty of people living off the river, it would not be difficult for them to acquire a boat for smuggling the princess away. The joining of rivers was also the best place for Lothíriel to switch vessels, as the banks of the stream were lush with vegetation to provide cover, and the tricky waters would demand the ship to sail slow.

At night, she'd abandon her father's ship and join the two knights assigned to collect her. The rest of the company would wait them on the shore, and while four of her five guardians would pull the boat deep enough into the forest, the last one would busy himself with fastening her blue cloak into one of the willows growing on the bank of the river – willows were one plant which grew in abundance in these parts and were also rather convenient for their plan. The cloak's clasp, a silver brooch made into a shape of a swan, would be found by the men sent to look for her. It should also be enough of a clue as to what had happened to Princess Lothíriel.

According to Father, it didn't matter whether Denethor would think she had purposefully drowned herself or if her demise had been because of some tragic accident. He would stop the searches soon enough, because the stream was strong and the Steward would presume her body had been carried to sea. After that, rest depended on Lothíriel and her guards: with their goods consisting of things easily moved like spices and fine fabrics (nothing too extravagant or exotic, though – they didn't want to get any unnecessary attention), they would travel to Rohan like any company of traders. They would seek audience with Marshal Éomund and explain the situation to him, as his support and co-operation were essential, especially if things went awry. Then, with the help of her father's old friend, she would hide in the plain sight.

It was not a perfect plan, as they had both agreed, and it was a cruel torture for those who loved her. However, it was the best they could do in this situation. And so far, Lothíriel thought to herself as the little boat began to approach the bank of Anduin, it was working exactly like she and her sire had hoped.

And it continued to work, for dark shapes appeared on the shore, and two men took hold of the boat, pulling it firmly to the shore. Another hand appeared to help her on her feet with a soft _"my lady"_ in greeting. As soon as her feet were firmly on the ground and the second knight had landed as well, the four men began to pull the boat, to hide it in the woods. Reluctantly she unfastened her cloak and handed it over to the knight next to her, a man of the name of Aradol. She had rather liked that particular garment, but knew why this must happen: she had been seen wearing that cloak many times including her latest voyage, and so in finding it Denethor's men would quickly be able to come to the hoped conclusion. Not to mention, when she took up her disguise, it would not be wise to flaunt the colours of her birth home.

"My lady, everything's on place. We should keep going until dawn, as I'd rather put some distance between ourselves and the river", spoke Sergeant Celon, who was in charge of her guards. Once they reached Rohan, he'd also disguise himself as her older brother; the story they had come up with was she was his unmarried sister, and she had travelled to the northern land to help him establish a business among the Rohirrim.

"Of course", she said, fastening her new cloak – a nondescript garment made of grey wool with a brass clasp at the throat.

"The horses are this way, my lady", Celon said, gesturing her to follow, and she let herself be lead away from the bank of Anduin. She cast back one more look, imagining the noise and clamor which would fill this place when the morning came, but the thought was too depressing to be entertained for long.

Her father had provided her with the five guards who were now about her. They had all abandoned their soldier's garb and were dressed as ordinarily as herself, though she knew they all wore chain-mails under their cloaks and coats, and carried swords on their belts. As fully trained knights, they would be a force to reckoned with, and any more would have been suspicious. For the month before putting the plan to action, they had been busy learning about merchant's trade, so that they might appear as genuine as possible once they reached Rohan. They were all moderately young men without families, for Father had not wanted to divide any man from their wife and children – after all, there was no telling how long this quest would last. Moreover, a family left behind would have been a loose end, and smaller the amount of people who had an inkling about this scheme, the better.

After trudging a while in the dark forest, they came to where the horses were waiting. These animals were not from Father's stables, as someone might have noticed their absence, and at any rate simple traders were unlikely to be able to afford such steeds as Prince Imrahil possessed. Lothíriel would have liked to take her own dear Summer for this journey, but she had understood why it was impossible. She was also not pleased to have to use a side-saddle for the journey; however, her disguise as a simple merchant's sister required it.

Their horses greeted them with soft nickers and whinnies; the knights had saddled and made them ready for travel. There were nine animals, four of which served as packhorses.

As she mounted her dark brown gelding, Lothíriel felt unreal, as though she was caught in some bizarre dream. Her and Father's desperate plan was truly happening now, and each moment took her further away from Lord Denethor's designs. However, she knew she could not rest assured yet – they still had to pass through Harlond, make their way for Rohan and face the dangers of the perilous borderlands. There was a long way to go yet before they could close themselves in Marshal Éomund's protection. And who knew what the man would say once he heard of all this? It was entirely possible he'd not have any of it.

Even so, Lothíriel had to be hopeful. It was the only way she could possibly imagine herself surviving all that this road would put her through.

* * *

 _Early May 3018, The Great West Road_

In the dream, a voice was calling her name. Though the sound seemed to come as if through water, she could still hear the distress in it. She wanted to answer, but could not raise her voice to do so. So her response came as a pathetic little whimper, which grew into a gasp when hands shook her shoulders and the voice speaking to her became more demanding.

Her eyes shot open and above herself, she could see Thangan, one of her guards. Like each morning since leaving her father, she was startled into the depressing realisation she was far away from home, without any knowledge of when she might be able to return. On the first mornings of the journey, this knowledge had made her want to curl up in a ball and return to dreams, though she knew such pathetic response was quite impossible. So, even in the first agonising mornings, she had got herself moving by the mere effort of will.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Lady Lothíriel, but dawn is near and it seemed to me you were having a nightmare", Thangan said carefully, his expression undeniably concerned. She had to bite back her cringe, for the last thing she wanted was her knights thinking she could not endure this.

"Of course. Thank you, Thangan", she muttered, sitting up and rubbing her eyes to get rid of remnants of sleep. Around her, her guards were waking up and readying for the new day; at the campfire, a pot was already boiling for some tea.

Their morning routine had already fallen into a place. Breakfast was made, the campsite was cleaned up, and the horses were packed and readied for the road. Lothíriel joined these tasks as much as the knights; the many camping trips of her childhood with her brothers was probably the reason her father had ever even entertained the idea of sending her to Rohan. But though she could manage in this environment, it didn't mean she wasn't missing a thousand little things about her home in Dol Amroth. Her own bed, hot baths, laughing and jesting with her brothers, her father's smile... she could only imagine what they were going through right now, thinking their only sister had died – possibly by her own hand. Lothíriel shivered at the thought and the knowledge Father was the one dealing with all that. In comparison, her task here was nothing.

"My lady? Are you all right? You seem really pale", Thangan said with some concern, but she was able to offer him a small smile.

"I'm fine. Just feeling a bit cold after just waking up. Thank you for asking", she reassured him, but inside she wished she could give herself a good kick. It would be all too easy to fall into despair, and it was up to herself to keep up high spirits.

Breakfast was simple but nourishing, and it would keep them going until afternoon, when they'd stop to water the horses and eat some lunch. Her knights talked quietly about what lay ahead and of their arrival to Rohan. She half listened to their plans of improving their horsemanship among the legendary Rohirric riders and perhaps earning enough money to purchase one of their horses. Quietly she wondered if a woman wishing to learn Rohirric riding would be frowned upon in the northern land; after all, if her guards were right in something, it was about the opportunity to learn from the very masters of handling horses.

After they had finished breaking their fast, the company of six finished cleaning up their campsite. Then, as the Sun was still making her climb up in the sky, they mounted their horses and made for the road again.

Riding along the Great West Road and seeing no other soul than the Swan Knights, Lothíriel was provided with an opportunity to think back on her journey so far. She remembered the first bewildering days of her escape, when everything had seemed so unreal. They had only travelled at night, as they had hoped to avoid the search for the Princess of Dol Amroth which was surely filling the immediate surroundings of Anduin with heavy traffic. On their way to Harlond – they could not avoid passing through the port of Minas Tirith – they had not met anyone. So, the lack of news had unnerved her, because she had no idea if their disguises would fool anyone.

At the time they had reached the harbour of the White City, the news of her disappearance were already widely spread. Moreover, the blue cloak had been found, and the general understanding was she had drowned in the river. These news had caused such a stir that no one really had time to pay attention to a company of traders, and so Lothíriel and her five knights had been able to come and go as discreetly as they had hoped. As they had made for the Great West Road, Lothíriel had gazed back at the proud white city of the Kings, and she had wondered how her father was holding up... how he was dealing with all the pressure that surely came when people thought her dead. She could only imagine how her uncle had reacted to the realisation his brilliant plan was for nothing. And in her heart she had said goodbyes to Minas Tirith and to all it stood for. Once she left behind this land, she would be facing a new, strange world.

Now, after several days of travel, they were nearing Mering Stream – the border between Gondor and Rohan. From there, it was foreign country and they would be travelling on Rohirric territory. Father had instructed her to ride for a town called Aldburg, as it was home to Marshal Éomund, and it would be along the road that travelled through the land of the horselords. What would it be like to meet these Gondor's allies, who called themselves Sons of Eorl? Her sire had said they were fierce warriors, who delighted more in their free fields and horsemanship than in books and knowledge, but they had their own kind of wisdom which they preserved in their many songs. Moreover, in friendship they were loyal and steadfast, and their hearts did not spare emotion or laughter. To herself, Lothíriel considered that at least meeting Rohirrim was something to look forward to on this journey.

The river which stood as a border between the two realms came to sight at midday. It glittered in the sunlight as it ran north to join Entwash, which then would travel to meet Anduin the great. Mering Stream was somewhat wide, but its waters ran shallow at the crossing point, and the company did not need to dismount to lead their horses across it. The land on the other side of the river did not seem any different than earlier, so it didn't really feel like they had left one country and arrived in another. However, from the maps she had consulted in Dol Amroth, she knew the landscape would start to change soon and they would enter the rolling plains of the land that was called the Riddermark by the horselords.

As afternoon grew older, she entertained herself and her company with stories of what she knew of Rohan's history, and particularly of Eorl the Young. She wasn't the only one who knew of Rohirrim and their past, though; it appeared one of the company, a knight of the name of Bandir, was also interested in the horselords.

"I heard Eorl the Young had a magic horse", he put in, looking like he was all but ready to ask where one might acquire such steed.

"They're not really magic horses", Lothíriel objected – this was one story her father had told her about Marshal Éomund's land and people, and it also related to the token he had given to her. "They are called the _mearas,_ and Rohirrim say they were brought from the West by Oromë, whom they call Béma."

"Well, doesn't that make them magic?" Bandir asked, making the company chuckle.

"What strange names they have for things", Thangan commented.

"Pray tell, my lady, what makes them magic?" asked Sergeant Celon curiously.

"They're stronger and faster than ordinary horses. More intelligent, too. And they're supposed to understand the speech of Men", Lothíriel explained what her father had told her when she had asked about the little wooden horse figure.

"That explains why Rohirrim give strange names to things. They are able to speak with horses!" said Fairion, another member of the company. Again the group chuckled.

"I wonder what a horse like that might cost", Gaelon remarked in a dreamy tone. Of the five knights, he was the most enthusiastic horseman.

"A king might be able to afford one, and even then his money would go to waste", Lothíriel said, smiling to herself as she looked ahead. She glanced around and seeing the quizzical looks, she went on, "Apparently, _mearas_ will only let kings and princes of Rohan ride them."

"That is just maddeningly frustrating", Gaelon complained, and his disappointed face was so comical she had to hold back her smile.

On the first night they spent on the Rohirric plains, Lothíriel felt better than ever since leaving Dol Amroth. She felt more hopeful too, and she dared to imagine perhaps this journey might turn out all right. Maybe it would help her to grow and learn, so that one day she'd be able to return home as a wiser and stronger woman than she now was. As she looked around the faces of her knights at campfire that night, she wondered if the transformation had already started, induced by the company of these men and Father's trust in her ability to survive this.

At any rate, there was one thing she was fairly certain of: this journey to Rohan might not be the end of her life. Rather, it could very well be the _start_ of it.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** I did not intend to update until some time next week, but let's just say I was in the need of some escape and cheering up. I would imagine we all are at this time. Stay safe, folks!

So, we now have found out what is Imrahil's plan to hide his daughter. As he acknowledges, it's not a flawless plan, but it's the only way he can think of to keep Lothíriel safe and hidden while retaining peace with Denethor. Of course, as readers we know what is the biggest fault of this idea, but as I have in my previous stories, I again advocate that human thinking is not always flawless. Due to Imrahil's fear and distress for his daughter's safety, he doesn't consider if Éomund is even alive. And Imrahil and Lothíriel are both desperate enough to take the risk, because they don't see any other way out.

The campaign Imrahil speaks of, the one that introduced him to Éomund, is my own invention. If Éomund ever visited Gondor, I haven't found any references to it in the canon. But in the timeline of this story the campaign and the forming of friendship between Éomund and Imrahil takes place in the year 2990, which is also the year before Éomer's birth. Indeed, it's been a long time since they fought together, but like Imrahil says, the bonds of brotherhood in arms are strong and can last through many years.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **Anonymous -** That is precisely where she is headed!

 **Zeens** \- Thank you! I hope you continue to enjoy the story. :)

 **Thalia -** Glad to hear that, and hopefully the story will keep you entertained. I'm afraid Éomer won't make an appearance before the story allows it!

 **silverswath -** Thank you! :)

 **Lauren -** I'm happy to hear you've liked my previous stories. Hopefully this will live up to expectations as well. :)

 **Katia0203 -** Hope you like this second chapter too!

 **Rachetg** \- At reading your comment, I was actually rather surprised you thought so. But then re-reading the first chapter, I could totally see your point of view. Anyway, you're right in saying it's pretty insane. Still, I maintain people can make decisions that make perfect sense in their own minds while it looks crazy to everyone else.

 **Cathael -** Then I'm all the happier you commented this time. :) Always glad to hear from my readers!

Still, I'm afraid I can't say anything to your guess. Wait and see! :)

 **Felion -** Good to hear from you again! I hope I will be able to surprise you along the way but alas, you shall remain the judge of that. :)

 **solar1 -** And I'm happy to present you guys with a new story! Hope you enjoy it.

 **EugeniaVictoria -** Thank you! This chapter should answer some of your questions and hopefully it will set up some more. Thanks for reading!

 **itricky -** Hopefully this chapter explains why Imrahil thinks he can hide Lothíriel and keep the peace with his brother-in-law. Like I said, it's not flawless plan, but to my experience, situations as difficult as this rarely allow perfect plans!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

That night, thunder rolled over the Riddermark.

The air was heavy with the tension of the storm, so that it almost felt like one could not breathe; but the tempest brought no rain to relieve the atmosphere. It was the perfect setting for nightmares and other strange visions, though usually Éomer, Third Marshal of the Riddermark, would not be haunted by the phantoms of the night. Often he collapsed in his bed so late that he was just too tired to _have_ dreams. Tonight he dreamt of blood and screams – which, he later thought, was doubtlessly but an echo of some battle in his past.

He startled awake as thunder roared – directly over his hall, it sounded like. He was gasping for air, but it did not seem to bring any relief even as it filled his lungs. Cold sweat covered his limbs and somehow in his sleep, he had managed to imprison himself inside his sheets. In the urgent moment before his mind cleared, he fought to free himself of the tightly wrapped fabric, and by some primal instinct his hand sought for the hilt of the dagger he had hidden under his pillow.

But as the dream fell away, Éomer remembered he was in his own house, and in his own bed. There were no enemies here, except what nightmares might conjure. His breath calmed and he laid down his knife, but his mind remained uneasy.

 _It's just the storm,_ he thought as he sat up, wiping perspiration from his brow. He would be riding out tomorrow with his men to patrol the borderlands, and he'd do well to get as much rest as he could. But apparently tonight, the darker currents of his mind had a different plan.

Hair at the back of his neck and on his arms stood up, anticipating the strike before it came. Then lightning did come and it bathed his bedchamber in white, brilliant light. With warrior's instinct Éomer knew he was not alone before he even saw her, and sharply he turned to look at the door.

She stood there staring at him, her lips moving though he could not hear her voice. She was perhaps slightly taller than average and her night gown, only a few shades paler than her skin, hid a slender figure. Her long hair, darker than night's shadows, fell freely down her white shoulders. Though there was distress on her oval-shaped face, Éomer thought her mouth was more prone to smile than to sneer, and even in this brightness he could see the light of her glance. In his eyes, she was fair as a dream might be.

 _"Help me",_ was the silent words on her lips, or so he thought at least, and then darkness fell. When Éomer rushed to the door, his hands blindly grasping before him to reach her, she was already gone.

* * *

The day after they had crossed Mering Stream greeted them with drizzle, the kind which seeped into the very bones of the travellers, and which seemed to dampen the brilliant green grass of late April. Eager to get going as fast as possible, with the hopes of perhaps finding some settlement and shelter tonight, the company started early on.

The weather and its effect also robbed the first sight of the green plains of the beauty sunlight would likely have given this place, and so they did not spend long to take in the landscape of Rohan. Lothíriel kept gazing ahead in the hopes of spotting riders or perhaps the horses this land was so famous for, but the borderlands were quiet and empty. In this damp silence, Lothíriel's mind turned back to the way they had come, and she thought of her family in Dol Amroth. She imagined her brothers would have heard of her disappearance by now, and her heart ached when she thought of what they were going through. At least to her, to think of losing a member of family, seemed like a nightmare. She could only hope they would not be too hard on their father.

Rain continued as they rode on. It had its effect on her mood, drawing her thoughts to loved ones who were far, and that was probably she did not sense the shift in atmosphere – she just thought the rest of the company, horses included, were dismayed by rain. She at least had some difficulty keeping her gelding calm, and glancing around she could see others' horses were uneasy as well. But when Sergeant Celon and Aradol began to murmur between themselves, too close for Lothíriel not to hear it, she felt perhaps something else was amiss. Frowning to herself, she urged her horse to ride near the leader of her guard.

"Is something wrong, Sergeant?" she inquired him and pulled her hood deeper on her head to keep away the rain.

"The horses have grown uneasy. I think they're smelling something", he said warily, looking like he was deliberating if he should speak or not.

"Smelling what?" she wanted to know, holding tighter to her reins.

"My lady", Sergeant Celon spoke, his voice very grave, "I believe we are being hunted."

Lothíriel didn't need more explanation than that. She knew exactly what kind of a hunter would be out here in these borderlands, never mind the rain, and unnerve the horses in this fashion. She had never seen such creatures in her life, but she had grown up listening to scary stories about them, and she knew exactly how dangerous the situation was if the Sergeant were right.

"What do you think we should do?" she asked in a strained voice, trying to fight the freezing feeling of being afraid. Her hand crept to the bow she had packed just in case, though she had hoped it wouldn't be needed; while she was not a warrior, Lothiriel could draw a bow and even hit her target. Even so, she knew battle was another thing entirely than leisurely sending arrows at an unmoving object.

The look on the face of the leader of her guards spoke in volumes. Though he was accompanied by four other knights, all of whom were capable fighters, their numbers were not enough to pursue combat – to engage in a battle would be incredibly foolish.

"We must ride fast", Celon said, his voice hard and loud, "and pray to Elbereth that Rohirrim may be near."

* * *

As they raced deeper into the realm of horselords, rain began to fall harder, wrapping the landscape in a thick grey veil. This did not help with the anxiety growing in all their hearts: in this weather, they would not see their pursuers before it was too late. Still, Lothíriel kept glancing back over her shoulder, peering into the grey rain so intently that she was almost certain dark shapes were approaching from afar. But she told herself her uneasy mind was just making her see things, even if there _were_ something vile and horrible after their company.

Sergeant Celon kept rising up on his stirrups to scan the road before them, though it was hard when they could not see far ahead, and she knew he was hoping to catch a glimpse of patrolling horsemen. But who knew how where the Rohirric riders might be at this time? Borderlands were a wide and wild place, full of danger. Perhaps their swords were more needed somewhere else, protecting the lives of the people inhabiting this land.

"Those creatures daring to set foot on the Great West Road... it's an ill sign, I tell you", she heard Thangan muttering to Bandir behind her as afternoon progressed; though they were in great need, they had no choice but save the horses, and so they had switched to light gallop for the time being.

"It might not mean anything, Thangan. Maybe they caught our scent in the borderlands and decided to pursue", Bandir said in an attempt to keep up the spirits.

"It doesn't matter what happened. If the Enemy cuts the road to our allies, then we are in a very serious trouble", Thangan growled darkly.

"Not as long as Rohirrim guard these lands", Gaelon put in heatedly. Trust him to have faith in Gondor's allies even in this uncertain hour!

"But they can't be everywhere at once, can they? And the Enemy has enough blades at his disposal that it's more or less the same thing", Thangan told him, and even the young Swan Knight with his carefree view could not counter those words. He lowered his eyes and frowned, while his hand crept to the hilt of his sword.

"Shut it, you three", Celon spoke suddenly, his voice sharp and stern, and it was the first time during this journey he was using such a tone. When Lothíriel glanced at the man, he was not able to turn his eyes away from her, and she realised he was hoping not to make her worry. While she could appreciate his concern, Lothíriel kept to herself it was all too late for it.

The afternoon turned towards evening, and with it the unease of the horses seemed to become outright terror. No calming word of Sindarin helped them for long now, and on the faces of knights around her, Lothíriel could see grim certainty growing. Having watched it for the entire afternoon, she was not terribly surprised when Sergeant Celon lead his horse next to hers, his face a mask of determination.

"My lady", he addressed to her, his voice much softer than one would have expected in this situation, "I do not yet know how this day will end, but of one thing I am certain. That is you must survive today, so that you may continue your journey to the town of Marshal Éomund."

She looked at the man in disbelief, for she could already see the meaning behind his statement. For why else would he approach him now, on this moment?

"You can't purpose to sacrifice yourself for me, Celon!" she said quickly, glaring at him.

"Lady Princess, I vowed to your father that I would keep you safe. My honour and duty binds me to do whatever necessary to ensure that you remain unharmed", he said steadily, and judging by his expression he thought this the most natural course of action in the world. Solemnly he continued, "My lady, we do not know yet if things should go so ill as to threaten all our lives. However, I must know what ever happens, you will not try to do anything rash, and that you will remember your father."

At those words, she lowered her eyes and bit her lip. How she wished she could argue with the good sergeant! And yet she knew how it was. Father had sent her on this road with good faith, and she knew exactly how much pain and grief it would cause to him if she somehow got hurt. In fact, he was sure to hold himself responsible for it. Suddenly, she felt desperately angry at herself: she should have realised what a foolish plan this was!

"My lady, do you promise to keep on going, no matter what happens?" Celon asked her. Though she knew the reason for his insistence, his voice was gentle.

"I promise", she said, her voice not much stronger than a whisper. Somehow the faithful knight was able to smile.

"Thank you, Lady Lothíriel", he said, and to her it seemed he relaxed slightly in his saddle. But she felt only more troubled, thinking of what he had just made her promise: that she should overlook the lives of her knights in favour of her own!

Two hours before nightfall, Celon had them stopping next to a steep hill. Looking around herself, Lothíriel could see they were all tired, horses included. However, the five knights all looked fiercely determined, like no shadow could frighten them. Trying to swallow the lump in her throat, she wished she could be just as brave as them, even against chances so uncertain.

"Lads", Celon spoke up, "my lady. I believe it is time for us to face the inevitable. We know what's after us, and we also know at this point there's no escaping it. Our horses are not going to last for much longer and there is no sign of any villages where we might find shelter and help. Also, with the night coming our chances grow even smaller, because in the cover of darkness orcs grow stronger. In my opinion, our only choice is to meet these animals and give them what they deserve while we still have daylight on our side."

The other guards muttered in quiet agreement, glancing between each other grimly.

"Also, it is to give the Lady Princess a chance of making it to safety. We swore her father we would shield her, and that is what we shall do", Celon continued, but before he could say more, Lothíriel interjected.

"You can't ask me to just ride away and leave you behind", she said sharply. "I will not have it! I can't let you sacrifice yourselves for me!"

"My lady -" Fairion tried, but she didn't let him go on.

"I can help you – I have my bow, and I can shoot. My brothers tell me I'm pretty good", she hurriedly pointed out. If they were lucky, her arrows might just be the thing to make the difference.

"It's true – I've seen her at the training grounds", Gaelon added, and she cast a thankful look at the young knight.

"Lady Princess, I cannot let you participate in a battle. It's far too dangerous", Celon said heavily.

"I don't have to barge into the thickness of it. I can stay behind and cover you", Lothiriel countered him, at which Gaelon nodded eagerly. But the sergeant narrowed his eyes.

"And you would promise to stay behind? To flee if the battle goes ill?" he asked her and in his voice, there was a demanding tone.

"... yes", she allowed, sensing it was the only way he would let her help. And truthfully, she was not as mad as to try and ride into the fray. While she could handle a bow, having a sword in her hands would probably just result in hurting _herself_ rather than any opponent.

Sergeant Celon sighed, looking ten years older than he actually was, "Normally, I wouldn't let a first-timer participate. But seems like I don't have a choice now... perhaps your bow will help us today. Still, I expect you will not endanger yourself in any way, my lady."

"Of course", she quickly affirmed, holding on tight to her bow. She could do this – she had to, if she wanted to survive with her knights.

The sergeant shook his head as if to rid himself of some unpleasant thought, and then he straightened in his saddle, growing taller in the process. In the fashion of a true leader, he began to give orders to his men and outlining his plan. They would use the benefit of the high ground, and Lothíriel would stay behind them; she would provide cover with the bow, but she would stay away from the fight and flee if necessary. Celon decided they would not be splitting up, not before they knew how many creatures were after them – they might need all five knights to fight in order to make a difference. However, if the force against them was moderately small, then Gaelon would take her and they would ride as fast as they could, to seek for help and shelter. The plan stood on too many _ifs_ and _maybes,_ but in this situation it was the best they could do. As Lothíriel took her position on the hilltop, where she could command the road, and secured her bow and the vine by her side, she felt a stone grow on her heart. It was nothing like she had felt so far, and she had already thought to have known fear and uncertainty. She desperately wished this could have been but a nightmare, born of the strain of the road.

And the creatures that reached them not half an hour later were certainly fit for black dreams. They came bearing no sign of wearing down, as though they were driven by sleepless malice that did not need rest to go on. She counted twenty and five of them and her heart sunk: the odds of this battle were not good, and Celon would need each man he had to fight. Perhaps, if she could just hit enough of them...

"Hold still! Fear no darkness!" the sergeant's voice rose, clear as a ray of moon in the night. It heartened her as well and her hands were steadier as she lifted the bow. _I'm at the training grounds of Father's palace,_ she thought to herself, _I have a clear shot and Amrothos is giving me advice. I can do this. I_ must _do this._

Orcs swarmed closer, their terrible voices ringing in what sounded like war cries, and Lothíriel had no desire to know what was the content of those shouts.

"Fire at will!" Sergeant Celon bellowed and at his command, she released the arrow she had placed on her brow. Lothiriel did not know which one was more surprised when it hit: herself or the orc that now sported an arrow in its forehead. Though she might try to encourage herself with memories of home, this was nothing like shooting arrows on the training grounds of the barracks back in Dol Amroth, and she certainly had not expected the rush flowing through her veins. However, while she might have hit one orc, her success did not halt their charge in the slightest.

"For Dol Amroth!" cried her guards, and then they were riding down the hillside to meet the enemy, their swords ready to drink orcish blood. With trembling hands, Lothíriel lifted another arrow on her bow and took aim, but this time she only hit one orc's shoulder, and judging by how it kept going, the arrow probably hadn't even reached flesh under the scraps of armour.

For a moment it looked like Lothíriel and her knights might actually prevail against the orcs. The explosive charge on horseback down the hillside had the orcs in dismay as sword met sword, and Lothíriel's arrows rained here and there, but perhaps she had been right to think some inhuman malice was driving their enemy. For the orcs closed in around the knights like a deadly noose, until her guards were fighting for their lives rather than to conduct an assault. Celon shouted something over the noise of battle, and Gaelon fought to disengage – Lothíriel realised the sergeant had ordered him to get to her and ride away as quickly as they could.

But poor, brave Gaelon never reached her. Lothíriel had just about second to see the orc with the spear, and she cried out in warning. However, it was too late. Pierced by a short spear, Gaelon fell from the saddle, his smiling face frozen into a look of terror, and the shout died on her lips.

Tears blinded her eyes and she lifted her bow again and sent arrows flying, not even knowing if she hit anything; one by one she saw her brave knights fall and vanish from her sight, until only Celon was left.

Lothíriel could see the exact moment he gave up. He turned and sought her eyes. Then, as she watched in despair and horror, he mouthed _"Flee",_ not even trying to get his voice over the loathsome voices of the enemies around him.

He was pulled down from the saddle, and then she saw him no more.

* * *

When the morning came, it was bright and brilliant as a bride on her wedding day. Rain clouds had been wiped completely away from the face of the sky and the green of the great plains seemed more lush than anything Lothíriel had ever seen in her life. Two days before, she would have marvelled at the beauty of this northern land, felt thankful for having the chance to witness it.

However, last night she had seen five good men die, and so even the most beautiful morning would seem bleak when she awoke the day after the battle against orcs.

In tears, she had fled the site of the slaughter; though all in her had screamed not to leave her brave knights, her reason had guided her from that terrible place – it was too late to help them, and she knew they would never wish her to join them. She had to flee, not only to honour Celon's dying wish but also knowing five men had died to save her. Still, it had caused her pain like a knife stabbing in her heart over and over again, and she had raced away sobbing in despair and agony unlike any she had ever known before. Though herself and her horse were both weary, the animal had seemed to find one more resource of speed and endurance, and Lothíriel guessed the horse's instinctual fear of orcs was the reason for the mad flight away from battle.

By the time her gelding slowed down and stopped, night had been falling already, and both the horse and the rider were too exhausted to continue or to care whether there were more orcs chasing them or not. So, in misery she had laid down on the ground and shadow had come to her, and Lothíriel had felt she would not have risen even if the orcs had circled her. Why they never pursued her she did not know – maybe her horse had carried her far and fast enough, or perhaps they did not care about her when they had brought down five men.

As light grew and the night passed, Lothíriel returned to the waking world. She would have gladly remained in the dark dreamless sleep, and as she struggled to sit up in the narrow dale between two hills, she felt more afraid and alone than ever in her life – and she _was,_ because all her life she had been surrounded by people, and now the only living thing near her was her horse. Oh, what would she give if only she could have her father here! To toss herself in his arms and let him carry her fears... but he was countless leagues away, she was alone, and all she wanted to lay down again and never wake up.

But even as she sat there shivering and despairing, she could not forget what had happened only yesterday. She thought of her brave knights charging against the orcs, shouting their war cries as they went. She lived now only because of their sacrifice, and Lothíriel realised: she owed it to them to get up and keep going. For if she gave up now, they would have died for nothing.

With trembling fingers, she was able to find a handkerchief in her purse. There she wiped her eyes and blew her nose, determined to let these be the only sign of her weakness – even if the only witness was the sky above her.

To keep on going was not so easy, though, as she saw quickly enough. For Lothíriel did not feel particularly hungry, but her reason spoke she should eat something, and so she dug through her saddlebag. She found a piece of _cram –_ waybread made to last lengthy journeys such as this – and some dried meat and reminded herself she needed to eat if she wanted to keep up her strength. However, the taste of food was particularly foul in her mouth and quickly the task of eating became a hardship. Lothíriel closed her eyes and courageously tried to chew on, but bile rose in her throat, and then she was throwing up.

Once all was out, she washed her mouth with deep sips of water from her flagon and decided it was not a good idea to eat now. She would do that later... well, what ever _later_ would be.

While she was painfully aware of what she needed to do, it still took a while for Lothíriel to hearten herself into moving. At the time the sun was climbing higher towards the zenith, she finally mounted her horse and looked ahead. She had got herself well and truly lost, as last night she had not exactly been paying attention to where she was going. She had been too desperate to just get away, and in the process she had ended up in the middle of the green Rohirric plains, perhaps far from the Great West Road. The rolling hills expanded to every direction, wide and unknown as the very sky itself.

This could have driven her into a frantic state of mind, hadn't she remembered an important thing about her maps: the White Mountains were south to the Great West Road. So, as long as she kept the mountains to her left, she would be going roughly to the right direction. If she were lucky, she might even find the road again at some point. Surely she was bound to come across some village or other settlement sooner or later, and then she could ask for directions, perhaps even someone to escort her to Aldburg... the gold she had in her purse should take care of that.

She rode. Minutes and hours were lost in her riding as she sought the path west, to the lands of the horselords. At times, she would sing to encourage herself, but eventually her voice would die weak and pathetic, and the silence would be all the more deafening; in the wind, she thought she could still hear the cries of her knights as they died.

As night came, she stopped again in one dale, half convinced this green country had no living inhabitants. Yet in the morning she went on again to seek shelter, or at least one other person – she feared she might go mad if she did not find someone of her own race soon. Food still tasted ill in her mouth, and though she was able to force down some nutrition, she still felt like the deed somehow defied the fates of her knights.

Maybe it was this grief, dulling her mind and blinding her eyes, that drove her to the path that took her out of the frying pan and into the fire, for on the third day of her lonely wandering she rode into a bog.

Lothíriel had read there were fens in Rohan, but she had not realised it took a keen observant eye to see them, or that one should be more careful when travelling the plains of the Mark. In her defence, she was making the way without the guidance of a clear mind: grief was still plaguing hers when she accidentally rode her horse into a bog.

She realised it when her steed's legs suddenly sunk into the ground. It came so suddenly, for she had been riding in a haze, her mind in a places far away from this field. So the bog only entered her mind when he poor gelding stepped in it, sinking into the moist depths. Lothíriel cried out as she felt the mount falling into the bog, her hands grabbing for any guarantee of life. As her gelding sank, her only safeguard was the long green grass, by which she pulled herself on the ground. She sobbed as she felt the ground beneath her and she turned, her shivering hands grabbing at her horse's reins. The poor animal was shrinking and shrieking as he tried to claw his way back to steady ground, and she did what she could to pull him there, but she did not have the strength to pull the poor animal through...

"No! Please no!" she was sobbing when the panicked thing sunk, and his terror was her terror, but it was all in vain, and before her eyes the poor horse went under with one last shriek of terror.

Lothíriel lingered by the bog for what felt like hours, tears streaming down her face. She had no desire to go on, but as the wind rose and she felt cold in her damp, stinking clothes, she knew moving was the best way to get warm again. Yet what purpose it would serve, when her horse, all her supplies and even her bow had disappeared into the fen? How was she to survive now, when she had no means to defend or feed herself?

But then she thought of her brave knights once more and how they had ridden to their death, fearless against their terrible fate. She had resolved she'd go on, if only for them... and she owed it to them that even now when her situation was growing so hopeless. Gritting her teeth, Lothíriel struggled to stand up, though her legs were weak, and she wiped the remaining tears from her eyes. The salt burned in her hands, covered in bog-filth and chafed from trying to pull her horse on dry land. She could only imagine how she looked now: a dirt-covered ghost of the Princess of Dol Amroth.

She breathed deeply and took a step, and then another, now minding carefully where she lay her feet. The first steps were more difficult than she could ever have said, but it got easier as she kept going and life and warmth returned to her shivering limbs. _West,_ she thought, _I must keep going west._

Arms wrapped about her middle-section, Lothíriel walked. Her thoughts ran frantically, from the sight of her horse sinking under to her knights falling, and at last to her dear, dear father. Oh, how horrified he would have been to know where this road had taken her! What madness had possessed them to try this road when it had only held misfortune and death?

She continued her dismal journey until nightfall, at which time her feet were heavy as stone and her heart sick with all the misfortune she had faced. As the sun set in the west, she knew there was no reason in going on – most likely she'd just get even more lost in the darkness. So, when she found a small dale and a narrow stream there, she decided it was as good as any. Handfuls of cold water did not do much for the pangs of her empty stomach, but at least she was able to wash her hands and face of the bog-dirt. Fresh water stung her chafed hands, and with a grimace she ripped some fabric from her shift; she wrapped the pieces around her sore hands. At least her cloak had dried somewhat, and she might not freeze during the night as she had feared.

Then, as the first stars were lit in the sky, she curled up under her still damp cloak, shivering as the cold crept on her. If she had thought before she had never felt more alone and scared, it had nothing against the blackness of her mind at this moment.

 _O Elbereth, send me a guiding light..._

* * *

Morning came after what seemed like an endless night. Lothíriel had not slept much, for each small noise of the night had startled her, making her think orcs were near. She couldn't get comfortable on the ground and the cold air had seemed to seep into her very bones while her belly kept growling louder and louder, demanding for some nourishment. So, she was glad for the dawn and its light.

After drinking some water and washing her face again, she continued her hopeless journey, mindful of keeping the snow-clad mountains to her left. She went on more careful now, as she had no wish to drown in a bog like her poor gelding. Thinking of the animal's fate, her heart twisted. He had been a good mount, sweet-tempered and faithful. She could only wonder how her heart could still bear all this grief and pain, instead of growing numb and weary.

It was in this desperate hour that her luck turned. For as she made way, stumbling more than walking, a distant sound of thunder came to her. Only, it occurred to her it was not any making of the weather, unless such element now raged in the very earth. Then she heard the horses, and in sudden burst of hope Lothíriel sprang forward. Horsemen! Rohirrim were here!

She ran, her weary feet strong again with the hope, heading for the top of the hill where she might see the riders and call to them...

However, she never got that far, for then a figure of horseman appeared at the top of the hill, almost as suddenly as he once had in the brilliance of a lighting. With a gasp, Lothíriel fell down, her feet giving out in surprise and dread, and she gazed up at the rider before her. For a moment, she was sure her eyes were tricking her, or she had strayed into some strange dream... because the man before her was one she had seen before. She would have remembered this face anywhere, even though she had only glimpsed it for the briefest second.

The great grey warhorse, his hooves pawing at air, and the man riding him... broad armoured shoulders, a flash of blond hair, the tall gleaming spear, and a white horsetail flying in the wind... Lothíriel gasped and fell backwards, her hands shooting up to protect herself from the inevitable fate of being trampled by a horse, but she never felt the hooves of the horse coming into contact with her body.

He spoke sharply in what she guessed was his own tongue, but she could not answer either in Sindarin or Westron. Her voice had failed her on this moment when she desperately needed help; instead, she remained on the ground, staring at him with wide eyes. Surely he'd vanish any moment now, disappear like he had that night, and she would be left wondering if her the stress and grief had tipped her sanity off balance...

That moment, more riders appeared, emerging on the hilltop to flank the man with the horsetail helmet. There were dozens of them, tall men with bearded faces and long blond hair falling on their shoulders, and she could only gape at this vision before her. Father had said Rohirrim were quite different from their allies in south, but nothing he had said could have prepared her for this moment – the very _wildness_ they breathed. She gasped softly as many bright eyes fell on her, and one of the horsemen even had his spear at ready, as though he was seconds away from pinning her into the ground. Lothíriel sunk closer to the ground, covering her head with her arms. Breath caught in her throat and the only sound she was able to produce was a pathetic little whimper.

Voices began to talk, speaking in that strange northern tongue, and the still working part of her terrified mind wondered if they were trying to decide how to kill her. But then one voice rose above the others, deep and strong and clear – the voice of a man who knows how to command. Others fell silent and there was the sound of feet falling on the ground and metal clinking, but she didn't dare to raise her head to see what was happening.

Suddenly, a pair of greaved feet stopped to stand before her, and she saw them from between her crossed arms. Stupidly she stared at the red-brown leather and metallic engravings. Though she could see they were well-looked after, they had seen use and many battles. Before she could think of this more, he lowered himself on one knee before her, and warily Lothíriel lifted her eyes to see the face of the man from her dream.

He had taken off his helmet, which made him look slightly less threatening. Long blond hair framed his face, which now seemed softer and gentler. Carefully he offered her his hand, and he spoke in Westron, "Are you injured, lass?"

For one reason or the other, she could not answer. Her voice had utterly failed her, and all she could was just stare at this man she had taken for a phantom of dream; yet there he was before her as real as the sun. She searched his face frantically, wondering if he recognised her too... but she could not read his expression at all. The keen, intense burning of his eyes could mean anything.

The lack of an answer made him frown and one of his companions said something, which had the man half turning his head. He answered in their tongue, his voice hard now. Then he looked at her again and his expression softened once more. He reached his hand closer to her and she flinched in alarm. He stopped and his gloved fingers hovered in the air some inches from her arm.

"Don't be frightened. I will not hurt you", he said gently. Lothíriel swallowed and again met his eyes, which were dark as a night in the woods of her home, and she saw a great warmth revealed in them. Abruptly she felt she could trust this man, even with her life if it came to such a dire situation. Perhaps that was what the dream had meant – just to tell her that once he came along, she should not be afraid. So, without a further thought, she placed her hand in his own, feeling its strength even through his leather glove.

A small smile touched his face and the expression made him comely – in a bearded, rugged way, unlike the cleanly shaven, refined lords of Gondor. He rose up on his feet and pulled at her hand to raise her as well, but her legs would not support her, and she fell as soon as she was standing. But he quickly caught her and lifted her in his arms. Lothíriel's heart picked up speed, her head too confused to make sense of the frantic flow of emotions. And yet... she was starting to feel like she was safe at last.

"Lass, where did you come from? Did you get lost?" he asked her, but still she couldn't answer. What could she tell him, anyway? Her knights were gone, and so was her disguise. Should she declare herself or stick to the tale she and her father had invented? What would this man do then? Maybe he'd wish to be rid of her and send her back to Gondor, straight into the hands of her uncle...

"Is she mute?" asked one of the riders, and she was glad they were now using a language she could understand.

"I don't know. Perhaps she doesn't know the Common Tongue... we will find out. In any case I'm not going to just leave her here", said the man who was holding her. He called for his horse and the stallion trotted next to him. He lifted her on the animal's back and in surprise, she grabbed some of the steed's mane to stay in balance.

"Is that wise, my lord? She could be a spy from Dunland", said the other rider, raising some agreeing mutters among the rest of the company. Lothíriel quickly looked at the tall man, whom she now knew was the leader of these horsemen, and he answered her gaze steadily. Something moved in those dark eyes, making her wonder if he _did_ recognise her... but she could not tell. All she could do was to place her fate in his hands at this moment.

"No... no, I don't think she's a spy", he said at length and mounted the horse to sit behind her. In one hand he gathered the reins and the other he wrapped about her midsection, to keep her steady on the back of the steed. He looked around his men, some of whom looked bewildered and doubtful. He spoke again, "We ride until nightfall."

But if his men were bewildered, so was Lothíriel herself, too. And yet, though the events had made an unexpected twist, she felt this was indeed a turning point... and whatever would happen next, she was secure as long as the man from her dream was near.

* * *

At the time of sunset, the company stopped in a dell by a small stream. With efficiency and precision that marked them as professional soldiers, the horsemen prepared a camp for the night: fires were lit, horses were cared for, and supper was started. Their leader managed them with quiet authority, and as she watched him, Lothíriel felt more and more assured that she could at least trust him with her life, if not with the truth.

Their ride through the green plains had given her some time to calm down and think of what she should tell them. She had decided truth was out of the question, and any mention of Gondor would be ill-advised, at least as long as she didn't know where she stood with these people. It was unlikely the story of some lost princess would have reached the ears of these men, but if it ever did, she did not want anyone thinking of _her._ However, she knew she could not pass as a woman of Rohan: her appearance did not fit in at all and she did not know their language. Perhaps surprisingly, it was the words of one of the riders which gave her the idea. He had suggested she was a spy from Dunland, and Lothíriel decided the smartest thing she could do was to use this presumption. From the scrolls and books she had read, she knew Dunlendings were a people who lived west of Rohan, though they would have rather taken the green land of horselords for themselves. Some of them lived even as far as Bree in the north, and Bree came very near to the ruins of the lost kingdom of Arnor. And there wild lands of the deserted realm still lived a scattered people not unlike her own... Dúnedain of the North whose eyes were grey as the sea. Best part was, though she had to lie, she could also spin some truth into her tale.

So, when she was sat down by a camp fire and a mug of hot tea was pushed into her hand, she felt a bit better. Her and Father's plan may yet be salvaged, the sacrifice of her knights appreciated, though she had a feeling it would not be easy.

Lothíriel was so deeply engrossed in her thoughts of her reformed story that she did not notice the tall rider stopping next to her. She startled and nearly spilled her tea, but his calming voice soothed her. It was odd to look at this man and see how precisely he matched her dream, and she had to wonder: what power had brought him as a vision to her? Why had he been there in her chamber, unless as a herald of fate? The frustrating thing was, even back home there had been no one she could have spoken of this, no one who could have made sense of her night-time vision. Best of times, she had taken it for a dream and in the worst, she had wondered if she were mad. But now he was before her eyes and she didn't know what she should think.

"Have peace. All is well and you are safe", he said softly and sat down next to her. He was not alone, for another man squatted next to him, and both their eyes were on her.

"I am named Éomer, son of Éomund. I am the Third Marshal of the Riddermark and the men you see around us are my riders. This is Éothain, my second in command", he started, making her look up sharply. Son of Éomund? Yes, she was having some luck here. He looked at her keenly, "What is your name, lass?"

"... Daerien, my lord", she whispered, surprised that she was able to make sound. It was weak, though, in the verge of breaking and falling right back in to silence. The two men glanced at each other, but their expressions did not reveal their thoughts, not to her at least.

"And how did you come to be here, Daerien? Where did you come from?" asked the Marshal as he looked back at her.

"I... I rode from the west. I was seeking passage to Gondor, but I got lost, and my horse... I rode into a fen", she said, her tongue stiff from being alone with no one to talk to for what felt like such a long time.

"So you come from Dunland?" he inquired, but his question made his captain scoff in doubt.

"I don't think she looks like them", he muttered, but his lord glared at him and said some Rohirric word that sounded like a reprimand.

"My mother was from the north", Lothíriel said, and the suspicious look on the captain's face softened. She hoped it was a sign he was starting to believe her – or at least entertaining the idea of doing so.

"She was of the Dúnedain?" the Marshal asked, and she nodded quietly. He regarded her for a while before making another question: "What made you leave your home, Daerien?"

Lothíriel swallowed hard before speaking, "There was... I couldn't stay there. I had to flee. My uncle was going to..."

This hit all too close to home and her voice died. Struggling against the tears, she wrapped her fingers tight about her tea. In a tiny voice, she stammered, "He wanted me to marry someone horrible. I couldn't agree to it."

Once more the two men glanced at each other. Whatever they thought of her fleeing from this fate, it did not show on their faces – perhaps it was inconsequential in their eyes altogether, which wouldn't have surprised her at all. These were men of war, and they faced far more terrible things in their daily lives.

The Marshal cleared his throat and looked at her once more.

"I see. You have suffered much as of late, and it is my duty to help those in need. I do not have men or horses to spare, so I suggest you travel with us for the time being. Once you have rested and recovered from your ordeals, you may continue you journey, if that is your wish", he said, and even as he spoke he undid the clasp of his cloak. To her surprise, he set it next to her. "Eat and then get some sleep. We are not going to ride before the dawn."

"My lord, your cloak -" she started, but Marshal Éomer shook his head, smiling slightly.

"Keep it. Nights here on the plains can be chilly", he merely said and stood up.

Lothíriel looked at him in silence. There he stood, looking at her with warmth in his eyes, and she felt safe. For the first time in many, many days, she felt well and truly secure, and the simple kindness he had shown to her was like balm to a sickened heart. If Éomund was at all like his son, then she could understand perfectly well why Father trusted him still. Marshal Éomer had found her, he had picked her up when her own feet would not carry her, and now she had a promise of shelter and refuge because of him. She felt so thankful she nearly burst in tears right here on the spot, but she was able to keep her calm. Instead, she smiled at the horselord.

"Thank you, my lord", she simply said and bowed her head to show her respect.

After finishing her tea and eating some hot stew, which tasted glorious after going without food for so long, she curled up under the green cloak. Though the smell of wind and horses was unfamiliar to her, it was comforting like a mother's embrace. Surrounded by the tall riders, who were alert even as they sat down to eat and talk, she knew no danger could get to her... and tonight, she could sleep peacefully.

* * *

 **A/N:** First, there was some wine, and then there was inspiration, and in the end I sat up half the night typing away. No one is surprised, yes?

With a curious mixture of bad and good luck, Lothíriel is now moderately safe, though her future in Rohan remains an open question. Éomer has also made his formal appearance - though I must admit that when I was editing this chapter, I realised the part in the beginning with his dream of Lothíriel should have taken place at the end of the last chapter. But alas, some ideas occur too late! I'll see if we can get inside his head in the next chapter. :)

I hope you are having a great weekend, my dear readers, and if you got time, please let me know what you think!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **quickreader93 -** I can only hope that feeling will persist! :)

 **Cathael -** Glad to hear you liked it! :)

 **Rachetg -** She is indeed having pretty hard time, knowing her brothers are likely grieving her and having to watch her guards die like that. But at least now she is somewhat safe with Éomer's riders.

As for what will happen now and how she will find safe haven in Rohan, that will have to wait for the time being!

 **Wondereye -** I must admit I was anxious to get her to meet Éomer. I am quite hopeless. :D

 **Solar1 -** Thank you! :)

 **itricky -** That both delights me and scares me! Because I'm now afraid I will disappoint you at some point. But I will try to keep things interesting!

Unfortunately, this is the end of her knights - though I did not get to fleshing out their characters so much, I admit I was rather sad to have to kill them. However, it was necessary for the story.

 **sailor68 -** Thanks! :)

 **EugeniaVictoria -** Happy to hear you enjoyed it! Hopefully I succeeded with pacing out this chapter, too, although lots of things are happening here. And also I hope you liked his first meeting with Lothíriel. It's from her eyes for now, but maybe we'll get to see his side of thing soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Éomer son of Éomund had been rising with the sun from the day his rider's training had started. He was always a light sleeper, but he was even more on his guard when he rode with his men on patrols and fought the foes of the Mark. On the wide and wild fields of his homeland the ability to startle from sleep could mean the difference between life and death. But this morning it was not strife that woke him up, for it was the morning's first light that roused him from his bedroll near the fire – night had been chilly without his cloak, but the glow of embers had kept him warm.

He added some wood to the dying embers to get the fire going again. Thinking of how much he'd like a cup of tea to properly wake him up, he searched for a kettle with his eyes. But instead, his gaze fell on a small figure curled up under his cloak. She slept still, so tightly hidden under the garment that he could only see the top of her dark-haired head.

Quietly Éomer considered the strange girl and the mystery of how she had come to be here – for it was a mystery to him how she had been able to avoid all eyes and get so far unharmed. Even more he was puzzled by the fact that this was not the first time he saw this maiden, for he had not forgotten the dream in which she had been pleading for his help. During the patrol, he had kept thinking of the vision, wondering about its meaning, though he had not spoken of it even to Éothain. Had it been a sign from Béma, or perhaps some sort of Elven magic? Surely he had felt so when he had ridden that hilltop and caught that first glimpse of her, thinking her a stray elf-maiden; her appearance so soon after the dream did not seem like the work of mortal hands. And though she was covered in dirt and her long dark hair was in tangles, the clear grey of her eyes still held the shine of stars.

Yet there she had been in the very waking world with him, not a vision conjured by thunder. When she had placed her hand in his, it was real and solid, though it felt cold in the chill of the wind. Éomer had a feeling it might not be wise to speak of his dream out loud, and least of all to her – he did not think one so in distress would understand it at all, and most likely she'd take him for a madman. Seeing how upset she was, speaking to her about night-time visions might just send her running for the wild, and for near certain death. At any rate, he had no idea what he should make of this all – or if he should be very concerned to have received a vision that had, in a way, come true.

His musings were interrupted by the yawning Éothain, who plodded to the camp fire, looking like he was only half awake.

"Morning, Éomer", the captain greeted him as he more or less fell down to warm his hands by the fire, which now merrily crackled away. The smell of smoke mixed in with the crispness of morning and dew on the long green grass, and wind had not yet risen. These morning moments, when the day was new and full of promise, were usually among Éomer's favourites.

"Morning, Éothain", he answered, though his eyes still remained on the girl named Daerien. His friend took notice of where his eyes lingered and made a gruff little sound at the back of his throat.

"You think she told the truth? That she was fleeing from her uncle in Dunland?" Éothain asked him.

"At least I don't see any reason to doubt it. She seems to be very upset... no matter what is the truth, this maiden has been through a lot, and it might mean her demise if we abandoned her now", Éomer answered at length. He thought of last night, when he had given his cloak to her – the smile she had given him had been enormous, as though a cloak was a gift more precious than jewels of an Elven hoard. If such small act of kindness could move her so deeply, then he could only imagine what horrors she had seen on her way.

"Even if she's one of our enemies?" his captain asked, sounding sceptical.

"Does she seem like an enemy to you, Éothain?" he asked back, glancing at the man next to him. His friend did not respond right away and instead, Éothain glanced at the sleeping girl.

"Still", said the other man at length, though he seemed to agree, "I must wonder how she made it all the way here from Dunland, without being seen until now."

"It is a feat, yes, and she is lucky to have avoided orcs and other dark things... But despair may drive one to such thing, especially if one has so much to lose and much to gain", Éomer stated. He had seen how she had shivered in terror when speaking of the marriage her uncle had designed for her. If it horrified her so much, the affair must have been dreadful.

"What do you mean to do with the girl now?" Éothain inquired.

"I don't know. But we can't leave her on the plains, either", Éomer said firmly and stood up on his feet. He was really starting to need that tea, and it was not going to fall from the sky into his hands.

Once water was boiling and the camp began to stir, Éomer halted by the side of the strange maiden. She slept soundly like the dead, making him wonder once again about her time alone in the wild. To have survived it she had to be a hardy thing indeed... still, when he lowered himself on one knee to gently shake her shoulder and she startled awake, the first thing on her face was wild fear.

"Peace, lass. It's just me", he told her in soft tones, and he could see her fright vanish. "Sun is rising. We'll be moving out after breakfast."

"Yes, my lord", she spoke, her voice not much stronger than last night. The grief in her eyes, the break in her voice... though Éomer had seen much sadness in his life and he had hardened himself against the horrors of the world, this girl's distress still pierced through to him. For one reason or the other, it made him want to answer the plead her shade had made at the night of the storm, to guard her from further misfortune. Though a part of him would have liked to pretend otherwise, in the darker corners of his heart, those he tried not to use too much and often, he could feel this need was not the same as his usual concern for the innocent lives he was tasked to protect. How much of this feeling was because of the dream, he could not tell.

He rose to leave, bewildered by the impact this girl had on him – especially now that she was really before his eyes and not just some vision of night. But then a hand fell on his forearm, and he froze; though her hands were bound with dirty pieces of garment, he could see she had what Rohirrim would consider musicians hands, with long and delicate fingers and a light touch.

"My lord, I wanted to thank you. I do not think I would have lasted much longer if you hadn't found me", she said, her voice a bit stronger now. In her grey eyes, he could see almost childlike trust. If he, a man with hard face and even harder hands, would inspire something so pure... well, he knew he would have to be worthy of it.

"You needn't thank me, lass. If I can save even one life..." he answered, his voice trailing off as words failed him. _If I can save even one life, then every sacrifice and all the loneliness is worth it._ He shook his head and looked away, for he felt like her bright eyes were piercing him where he stood. Organising his face into a determined look, he forced himself to meet those eyes again, to see their shine that was not smothered even by grief, and he spoke, "The breakfast will be ready soon. Eat and gather your strength, for we have a long day ahead of us."

* * *

A good night's sleep in the safety of a Rohirric camp had somewhat improved Lothíriel's mood. She had better appetite as well, and food was not merely a necessity anymore. In the sounds of the camp and the lively voices of the horselords, she felt reassured: no matter what hardships she had faced, life would go on, and the sacrifice of her knights had not been in vain. She only hoped she could have helped out with cleaning up the camp-site, but the riders managed their tasks so effortlessly that she thought she would just have been on their way. So she waited by as these blond giants rushed about her, and she felt further away from home than ever in her life. Looking at their fierce faces, their broad shoulders and the fire of their eyes, she felt briefly tempted to reveal herself. Rohirrim and these men especially were warriors, so surely they would want to help her avenge her knights and rid the earth of the orcs that had slain them? But she knew it was not a wise idea. For all she knew, the orcs had probably already left the land of the horselords, and what right did she have to ask these men to endanger themselves for her sake?

Like yesterday, she rode with the Marshal – it did not seem like it even occurred to him to help her into anyone else's saddle than his own. He managed the great warhorse as easily as tough it was a second nature, though he had to mind her in the saddle with him. Her mind bittersweet, she thought of Gaelon and wished he could have been here now. He would have loved to witness all this... she could imagine him shooting ceaseless questions to these riders, or just mooning at them with wide eyes. Meanwhile, Sergeant Celon might have engaged Lord Éomer in a conversation, and his questions would have been just as limitless as Gaelon's, and others would be making friends... the thought of the five brave knights dampened her mood and it was only with great effort she was able to contain her grief.

To distract her mind of the depressing thoughts, she fixed her eyes on the landscape as they passed through the green land of Rohan. The rolling hills seemed to be without an end, and in that she was strangely enough reminded of the sea. Like most memories of home, she had tried not to think of Ulmo's waters in the fear of letting homesickness loose in her heart. Yet even if these plains reminded her of the sea, she did not feel the twinge of longing for home. Quietly, she wondered why the Rohirrim did not hold Manwë in greater reverence; one would have expected such from a people living in a land where wind seemed to be just everywhere. But then she remembered the forebears of these riders had come from the far north, and in those wild lands a great hunter like Oromë would probably seem like a mighty ally.

As they made way westwards, she could see smiles grow on the faces of the riders; Marshal Éomer said they had been patrolling for over a week and were now headed back for Aldburg, their base of operations. This brightened up her mood a little, though she tried to mask her thoughts. Aldburg was where she had been meaning to travel in the first place, to find Marshal Éomund and ask for his help... but now that she was with his son, she was wondering how to best approach him. Had she been holding on to her original story, it would have been effortless to get an audience with the man. However, Daerien the Dunlending girl would not be high in the interests of an Eorling lord. Had she been someone craftier, she could have tried to get the Marshal's help to meet his father, but Lothíriel had never found such manipulations tasteful or sensible.

But she could at least find out more about him, and talking with Marshal Éomer gave her something to put her mind into for the time being. So, at midday when they were travelling the Great West Road, she turned her head slightly to look at the man. He was so close, it made her blush to see the tall rider behind herself – no unfamiliar man had ever been in such close vicinity of her. Yet his face was as reassuring as before, even though he was grave and smiled seldom.

"My lord... do you have family back in your town?" she asked him carefully. She had hoped the mention of his kin might at least shift that serious countenance a bit, but instead, the man frowned.

"No, lass. What family I have left is in Edoras, and Théodred abides in the Hornburg", he said solemnly. Her brow furrowed: was Éomund not in Aldburg, then?

"You said you are Éomund's son, my lord. Is he a Marshal of the Mark, like you are?" she inquired. But once more her question was not gladly received, for his expression became outright dark.

"He was when he lived, Daerien. But he died many years ago in battle. I follow in his footsteps now, for I rule his seat in Aldburg", the Marshal answered in a quiet, grim voice. It was not his voice that nearly had her falling from the saddle, though, but the words themselves. Éomund was dead! All this time, her and Father's plan had depended on his good will and friendship, and neither of them had guessed the man might be dead! And just as she had thought her luck had at last changed!

"Are you unwell?" Éomer asked, having noticed her unease. Unable to speak, she shook her head and stared away, frantically trying to think of what she should do now. If Éomund were dead, then who could she turn to for help? Here she was, deep in the land of Rohan, with no means to support herself or stay safe... true, she had some gold in the purse on her belt along with her father's ring and letter, but she was fairly certain Dunlending girls on the run were not supposed to own such a fortune. If she tried to use it, she'd likely be accused of theft, and even in the best case she would be calling attention to herself. Not for the first time she wondered what madness had possessed her to take this path and run head-first into such untoward circumstances.

Éomund was gone... but his son lived. And ever since the moment she had first laid eyes on him in the waking world, he had only showed her kindness and care. Should she trust him with her secret, to hope he might honour the memory of friendship between their sires? Would Marshal Éomer fill in the place Prince Imrahil had purposed for his father?

"Lass, I promise you needn't be afraid of anything now. You will be safe in Aldburg for as long as you wish to stay", he told her gently, perhaps somehow sensing what was on her mind. Once more she looked at him, his strong bearded face that held nothing but honesty and compassion, and she nearly spilled out the truth right there. However, she knew she needed to be careful.

"I lost my horse and all my possessions, my lord. I have nothing to pay for your aid and hospitality", she said quietly. How it terrified her, to know just how uncertain everything had become! She shivered despite herself, but the hold of his arm about her became tighter; the thoughtful look on his face implied he was not aware of holding her closer than before.

"Daerien... I know the loss of your steed and things is a serious setback to your plans of starting a new life. But it needn't be the end. You could come and stay at my household for the time being and earn some coin in my service. There's always work for a pair of clever hands in my hall. Once you have earned enough to purchase a new horse and goods for travel, you can continue your journey again", he suggested, speaking slowly as though he was unsure of how she'd respond.

Unbeknownst to him, Lothíriel felt her hope kindle again. Here was her chance! He was offering her the very thing she needed: shelter and safety, a hiding place in the open. She could keep her secret and still remain securely away from uncle's schemes. Of course, pretending to be a servant would not be easy, but she had acted as the head of her father's household long enough to know her way. Perhaps it was below her dignity and pride as a princess of an ancient line, but there was no turning back now; her knights had died to give her this opportunity, and returning home would mean giving into Uncle Denethor's plan.

Her first reaction was to exclaim her agreement, perhaps hug him tightly for the chance he had just given her. But to declare her relief so loudly would be strange, perhaps raise his curiosity. So she tried to hold as much hesitation in her voice as she could.

"... yes. I could do that, my lord. And I must thank you, because you may just have saved my life again", she said and risked a glance at the Marshal. For one reason or the other, there was a smile on his otherwise stern face.

"I'm glad to be of help, lass", he simply said, and it was rather the glow of his eyes that warmed her heart than his words.

At sunset, they made camp in a place not unlike the one they had stayed in last night. Once more, Lothíriel was filled with the feeling of being useless as men set up the camp and had the supper in the making. But when she asked the Marshal if she could help somehow, he smiled and shook his head.

"Don't worry about it, Daerien", he simply said and told her to rest. Deciding it was best to comply, she took seat where she thought she wouldn't be on anyone's way and watched as the men bustled about in their tasks. Perhaps it was smart to rest when there was an opportunity, because she knew the work of a household servant could be tiresome at times. To pass her time, she tried to imagine what kind of a life awaited her in the Marshal's service, and thought it wasn't the work that unnerved her. Rather, she was worried knowing that keeping up her disguise would not be something she could just stop doing when she felt like it. She would have to pretend from the day's first hours to the very last, keep the details of her tale in her mind all the time, and watch her words very closely. The slightest slip might cost her safety.

By the effect of these thoughts, the stone on her heart grew heavy to bear. It might have also made her anxiety rise dangerously, but Lothíriel fixed her eyes and mind on the whirlwind of light hair and green cloaks about her. There was no use in worrying about what lay still ahead.

When the camp was set and supper was ready, she was given a bowl of hot broth and a piece of bread. Holding her bounty in her hands, she looked about the company of blond riders and wondered where she should go and sit. How was it even possible to be surrounded by so many noisy men and still feel alone?

"Lass! Care to join us?" came a sudden call, and she turned to see the Marshal, gesturing at her to approach. Quietly she wondered if she had seemed very lost, and he had noticed. Either way, gratefulness expanded in her heart once more. With a trembling smile she made way where he was seated with few other riders near a fire. He made space beside himself and feeling silently thankful, Lothíriel sat down, balancing her meal carefully when she took seat. When she had left her home in Dol Amroth, she had never guessed or understood how such simple gestures as an invitation to share supper could mean the world. Not to mention, it really was quite something to be welcomed in company when one smelled of bog and clothes that had not seen a change in several days. A bath and a change of clothes was something she was desperately looking forward to once they would reach Aldburg.

For a while she ate in silence and half-listened to the riders speak, though she did not understand their words – Rohirric was language unlike anything she knew. Somehow, it was at times lively and then it would become rough and wild; some of the men near her were able to make their sentences sound nearly like a song. But even if she couldn't comprehend the words, there was still something soothing about it, to listen to these human voices. Like the Marshal's friendly gesture to invite her to sit with them, the sound of conversations was another thing she would not take granted again.

After some time, she could feel a pair of eyes falling on her, and the Marshal spoke to her once again.

"Daerien, tell me about yourself. Do you have family other than your uncle back in Dunland?" he asked her. This seemed to interest others in his company as well, because they fell silent to listen to what she'd answer, and she could now feel more eyes on her than just his.

"I have father and brothers", she said warily, hoping that he'd not pry too much. The truth would carry her only so far, and she did not want to lie more than she had to.

"You do?" he asked and the sudden ire in his voice made her look up in surprise. Indeed, when she saw how he was looking at her, she could not mistake the rise of temper. She had her explanation soon enough when he spoke, "What kind of men are they, allowing your uncle to mistreat you so that you have no choice but to flee into the wild?"

Now was her turn to feel some annoyance. What right did he have to judge her kin, when he didn't even know the circumstances?

"It's not so simple, Marshal", she said, with an edge to her voice. "My uncle is a powerful man. We had no other choice. If I hadn't fled, many people might have suffered because of me."

She met his stare steadily, though it was not easy to hold her ground against a glance so fierce. Had she ever been pitted against will like his? True, there was her uncle, but the Steward of Gondor wrapped his intent in ice and rock, while this horselord was fire and iron. Still, her own mind would not have her surrendering, and eventually his expression softened slightly.

"What is the name of your uncle, if I may ask?" Marshal Éomer inquired. The question dampened her mood right away – she had not thought this far in her lie, though she now realised how foolish she had been when failing to notice this detail.

"You wouldn't know him", she mumbled half-heartedly, staring at her bowl again. If this made him doubt her tale, or see right through it, Lothíriel did not dare to raise her eyes to glimpse such judgement on his features. But no matter what it made him think, he did not pursue that line of inquiry.

"Still", he continued, and whatever had been stern about his voice was gone now, "it seems quite courageous to dare the road to east all alone. Foolhardy, even... where were you planning to travel, Daerien?"

"I was hoping to reach Minas Tirith. Find work there... wait for the dust to settle so that I can go home some time", Lothíriel answered, trying to swallow the lump in her throat as the thought of the city of her birth assaulted her mind. She had been trying not to think of Dol Amroth, because she had guessed it would cause her to feel like this. The tears of homesickness burned her eyes and she felt like she might start to sob any moment now. Oh, what would she have given for a simple hug, be it from the Marshal or one of his long-haired, wild-looking men!

Perhaps the man next to her somehow felt her agony, for his hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"I am sorry that the fates have taken you so far from home", said the Marshal, his voice very soft and gentle. She was not able to speak, so she just nodded, hating that she could not hide her weakness from these men around her – and the fact that she couldn't be stronger than this.

"And now you're stuck with us lads here", came another voice from her other side – it was Éothain, the Marshal's second in command. She recognised the jest in his voice and surprisingly, it brought the slightest of smiles on her face.

"Lass can't catch a break, can you?" Marshal Éomer joined the joke as well, "Believe me, it takes a strong stomach to be able to watch these ugly faces from day to day."

His words made the men around the fire chuckle softly, and Lothíriel found her own smile growing a bit. She could see what the Marshal and his captain were attempting to do, and she was thankful for it. Perhaps this was just what she needed. How long had it been, anyway, since she had last had any reason to laugh?

So she summoned all the good cheer she could, and once more she turned to meet the eyes of the horselord, and the warmth she saw in them encouraged her. He was a man of war, a witness of horrors and a warrior tempered in many battles, and if he could try for laughter, then she could too.

"I admit your hairy appearances had fooled me into thinking I was taken in by a pack of particularly blond bears", she quipped, as she might with her brothers, "but it takes more than that to frighten me."

Her words roused their laughter, which was now more than just chuckles. Somehow, the sound lightened her heart. Looking at Marshal Éomer and hearing his deep, rich laugh, she realised she had still much to be glad about: she was safe with this man and his riders, she would have a chance of survival once they reached Aldburg, and there she could wait her time until it was safe to go home.

It could very well be Elbereth had heard her desperate prayers, and answered her call. Perhaps the Queen of Stars _had_ sent her a guiding light.

* * *

While Lothíriel had been looking forward to reaching Aldburg, it also filled her with anxiety when they did begin to get closer to the town. It was moderately easy to keep up her disguise among the Marshal's men, as they had accepted her story easily enough and did not ask many questions about it. But once she would be staying in Lord Éomer's household, she would have to pay careful heed to her every move and word, lest she revealed hints to her true identity. She only grew more convinced it would be difficult, especially when he spoke to her of his home and the people there.

"Athilda is the name of my chatelaine. She runs the household, and I am told there is nothing she doesn't know about managing a hall. I must warn you, though – she lost her nephew last autumn when he was out riding patrols in Westfold. Dunlending raiders killed him... she has not forgotten it, and it will not make her love you", he told her as they rode for the town located on a great hill. Though Lothíriel had seen some villages on their way, Aldburg was the first larger settlement on her journey. It was definitely quite different from the towns and cities of south, but she found she rather liked it. Stone was dead and cold, but in the houses built of wood she sensed warmth and life, even if the trees they had come from had been felled.

But now her mind was turned towards how she'd be received in his town; his words did not promise good. While she had perceived disguising as a Dunlending would not be without challenges, she thought she had not entirely understood what she was getting herself into when deciding to pose as a woman of an enemy tribe. However, she hoped her supposed Northern Dúnedain blood would buy her some pardon.

"I don't want to cause any trouble", she said, biting her lip.

"You needn't worry, Daerien. I will talk with Athilda and tell her to treat you as she'd treat anyone", Marshal Éomer promised calmly. She glanced at him quizzically, paying only brief attention to how comfortable she had got riding with him. This morning, when they had set on their way, she had not felt the slightest moment of awkwardness when he had mounted the horse and wrapped his arm about her once more.

"Have you fought Dunlendings, my lord?" she asked him now.

"A few times, when my cousin has asked for my help", he answered, looking ahead.

"And yet you treat me so kindly. You don't think me your enemy?" Lothíriel inquired, and he turned his sharp eyes at her again.

"Do you mean to cause mischief in my hall, lass? Do you feel hostile towards me and mine?" he asked her bluntly.

"No. Of course not! How could I, after all you have done for me?" she said quickly, fighting to keep her voice low. Her words brought a half-smile to his face.

"Then there is no quarrel between us. I do not think there is one mean bone in your body, and you don't seem like you are keen on fighting me and my people", he stated like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"Not in the slightest. I just want to live in peace", Lothíriel said softly.

"Just keep that attitude, and I am sure your efforts will be rewarded", the Marshal said calmly, and she hoped he was right.

The gates of the town were wide open when they arrived. Guards shouted what she had by now come to recognise as a greeting, and quietly she mouthed the word in her attempt to memorise it. The sooner she learned Rohirric, the better. As they entered the town, she curiously gazed about, seeing thatched houses built of wood and decorated with horse motifs of endless variance. Rohirrim were also fond of carving complex knotworks on the façades of their buildings, or so she judged when she looked around. On the streets of the town, she saw more of the light-haired folk, tall men and women as fair as spring, and she thought their faces were as though from some ancient time other than this. Many of them greeted the Marshal's company when they passed by, and some eyes lingered on her, perhaps wondering what business did she have to be travelling with Lord Éomer.

His Hall stood on the top of the hill – a long building, perhaps the largest in the town. One could see from afar it was the seat of a lord, for here the decorations carved in wood were more elaborate and abundant. Other, smaller buildings were in its vicinity, and she guessed these consisted of the Marshal's holdings. As the company of riders burst into the spacious courtyard, stablemen arrived to receive their horses, and servants of the household stopped by to watch. Lord Éomer dismounted his steed and before she could protest and say she didn't need help, he had already lifted her by waist and lowered her on the ground.

He was now in some swift, acute mood, and he had barely let go of her when he was already giving orders to his men in quick Rohirric. As Lothíriel looked around, she saw the faces of his people, and some of them were curiously regarding her – she tried to meet their eyes as bravely as she could.

"Come along, lass", the Marshal spoke, bringing her mind back to focus. He gestured her to follow, which she did, and he strode towards the hall. She had to half run to keep up with his long stride.

Once inside, she barely had time to look around – she'd have to explore the place when she had a spare moment – when Lord Éomer was already calling to a woman speaking with a pair of young-looking riders.

"Athilda!" he beckoned her by name and a nervous shiver ran down the young woman's spine. In a few moments, she would see how right the Marshal had been in his assessment. The chatelaine turned and came, and Lothíriel tried to take in as much as she could without staring. Athilda was taller than herself, with dark blonde hair and features vaguely resembling a bird of prey, and the princess guessed she was in her late forties or early fifties. Compared to her nose, her mouth seemed strangely small. But her eyes were large and expressive and they immediately betrayed her strong-willed character. She was arrayed in dark brown gown and a pristine apron, and from her belt hung many small objects.

"My lord Marshal. I hope your patrol went well", she said, curtsying at the lord of the house.

"It was fine", he said curtly – obviously he had no time for small talk. He glanced at Lothíriel and then looked back at the chatelaine, "This here is Daerien. My éored found her lost on the plains, and it was agreed she would come to stay here in Aldburg for a while, to serve in my household. Make sure she has a hot bath and find something fresh for her to dress in. Then show her around in the hall. I expect you will start to train her tomorrow."

Athilda's face betrayed only the smallest lift of eyebrows, and if she were surprised by this development, it did not show. She looked straight at the princess and measured her from head to toe; whether this first sight of the newest addition to the household displeased her or not remained a mystery as well.

"As you wish, my lord", the chatelaine said and curtsied again.

Now Lord Éomer looked at Lothíriel once more.

"Here I must leave you in the care of Athilda. If you have any needs or questions, she will help you", he told her and was already turning to hurry off to whatever task he had in mind, but Lothíriel grabbed at his hand before he could go. As soon as her fingers brushed his gloved hand, she regretted her absent-minded reaction: servants were not supposed to touch their masters, and neither did ladies of gentle birth have such contact with noble lords. But she did not pull back her hand, knowing how it would look like.

"My lord, your cloak -" she started, touching the clasp on her throat with her free hand. While the garment had been a welcome cover on the windy plains, she didn't think she should keep it. However, with a smile he waved the matter away.

"Keep it, lass. I can afford a spare one, but you will need its cover in this land", he simply said, and then he was striding away. Her mouth hanging open with her unfinished sentence, she stared after the tall man and felt suddenly like one who has just lost their lamp in the dark. Lord Éomer had been nearby ever since his riders had found her on the plains, and his presence had calmed and reassured her more than she had realised before this moment. Still, she had known a time would come she would have to manage without him in the close vicinity. So she turned to look at Athilda, conjuring what she hoped was a pleasant smile on her face.

The chatelaine's expression did not move in the slightest.

"Follow me, girl", said the older woman and she changed directions swiftly. As she proceeded, she strode almost as fast as the Marshal.

"Do you know anything about the work in the household?" Athilda asked bluntly – at this point, straightforward words did not surprise Lothíriel so much anymore. Father had been the one to tell her Rohirrim were an outspoken people, and she should know to expect frankness from them.

"I'm not a very good or knowledgeable cook, but I know what goes into running a household, and I am a quick learner", she answered, hoping it didn't sound like she was trying to boast.

"I will be the judge of that, girl", Athilda stated without any particular warmth, and Lothíriel had to bite the inside of her cheek in order not to cringe. She could only hope this was not how it would be from now on, though Lord Éomer's words about Athilda's hatred towards Dunlendings did not promise good.

 _Well,_ she thought, bracing herself for what was to come, _I was never promised an easy exile. At least I'm safe now._

* * *

After attending to what seemed like a thousand little things, Éomer was finally able to sit down in his study and take a breather. He had been running back and forth since his arrival in Aldburg, receiving reports and seeing to the urgent matters which had piled up during his absence. Now, close to the night, he finally had a quiet moment to himself.

His study was a a cramped space next to his personal chambers. In times before it had not exactly been his favourite place in the holdings of Aldburg, but he had come to appreciate the quiet and privacy every now and then. In this room, he stored his maps and what scrolls and books there were in his household. Most of them were fairly recent purchases: much for the influence of Morwen Steelsheen, his lady mother had insisted to obtain books from Gondor. Father had done so, though it had mostly been just to humour her – he had never taken pleasure in reading or writing. She had taught their son and daughter to read and write, which skills Éomer commanded perhaps slightly better than Eorling lords usually did. While Eorl the Young had gone to great lengths to establish a written language among the Rohirrim, it had never spread to a wide use. Above all, horselords still prized songs and tales more than any word put down in books.

Wearily the Marshal poured himself some ale and went through in his mind the tasks for tomorrow. He'd have to go and inspect the fields and talk with his farmers... he'd need reports on how his herd and the year's foals were doing... and he'd have to make sure one Daerien was settling down as well as she could. He hoped the folk of his household – or just Athilda – would not be too hard on her, and that they'd see she was a gentle-hearted lass who wished ill for no one. Even without the guidance of his vision at the night of the storm, Éomer's instinct told him Daerien was no threat, and after years of being a warrior he had learned to trust the feeling in his guts.

It was as though the thought of the Dunlending girl had summoned Athilda, for there was a knock on his door, and then the chatelaine's voice: "My lord! May I enter?"

"Come in", he invited her, wondering what she had in mind – although he knew what he hoped it _wasn't._

She entered, and he could see right away from her face that his hopes were in vain.

"What is it?" Éomer asked anyway, keeping his tone pleasant.

"You did not tell me that girl is from Dunland", Athilda spoke, her voice cool and displeased. While she managed her position in a way that did not leave one wanting, sometimes it seemed to him she had to struggle in order to remember the boundaries of her authority as his chatelaine.

"What does it matter where she came from? She's in my service now, and only that is significant", Éomer said calmly, leaning back in his chair.

"And mine opinion doesn't matter? Is this your idea of an insult, my lord?" Athilda asked harshly, but it did not much affect him – it was years since she had been able to frighten him.

"This is not about you, Athilda. The lass had got lost in the wild, and her provisions went into the bottom of a fen with her horse. Had I left her there, she would be dead by now", he told her steadily. "You know my duty is to aid those in need. She's just a maiden without means to fend for herself, but I can help her to get back on her feet."

The chatelaine did not look pleased by his answer, though he saw she had hard time coming up with something to counter him. Éomer sat quiet and met her gaze as collected as ever, waiting for what she'd come up with next. After a moment's silence her eyes lit up a bit, though it was by a cold light, and she opened her mouth again.

"You didn't have to bring her here. You could have left her on some farm", she pointed out, making him sigh. Suddenly, Éomer hoped he could just tell her why he felt so driven to help the girl. But how could he tell her the reason he had to do this, when he wasn't even sure if he understood it himself? Whatever his dream had been, he felt it bound him in a way. The more he thought of it, the more convinced he was the message had come from Béma himself, and so he needed to follow it – he needed to make sure Daerien was safe. However, he knew full well what Athilda, or anyone for that matter, would think if he revealed this reason. And who could guess what trouble she would get into, if people knew of her visit to his door?

"First take her in and then just expect someone else to help her? You know that is now my way. I gave Daerien my word that she'd have a place here", Éomer said, now just with a hint of sternness. But it did not impact Athilda in the hoped way. Instead, she only seemed to grow more dismayed.

"She's a Dunlending!" she barked, her voice well and truly cross now, "Generations of her forebears have slaughtered our people! Most likely her father and brothers too have done that very thing!"

"It doesn't matter who she is, Athilda. She is not responsible for the deeds of others!" he snapped with rising ire. The two glared at each other, and Éomer was able to get his temper under control again. He looked sternly at his chatelaine, "I do not expect you to agree with me, and you do not have to be her friend. But you will treat her as you would treat any member of the household."

For a moment, their gazes were locked in a battle of wills. However, Athilda appeared to sense he was not going to give in this matter, and she seemed to lose some of her impressive height when she relented. Still, he knew this exchange was not going to make her love Daerien.

"Very well, my lord. But that girl is not going to receive any special treatment from me. If she doesn't learn the ways of this hall, and if she doesn't do her job, I will not tolerate it", she announced. Knowing this was the most he could expect from the stern woman, he nodded.

"Just give her a chance, Athilda, and you might see what a gentle soul she is", Éomer said, his voice falling softer now. Though he had not known the lass for long, he was a fairly good judge of character. Like he had said to her before, he didn't think there was one mean bone in her... hopefully, her kind heart would not be broken here among strangers who were not as open-minded as himself.

The chatelaine did not say more; she merely curtsied at him and then made way out, moving as quietly as a shadow. He sighed, feeling weary after the little confrontation. Athilda surely had a way of draining a man of his energy! Laying down his head against his fingertips, he rubbed his forehead to ease what felt like the beginnings of a headache.

It did not take long for the next arrival to make their appearance. The sound of her step was one Éomer knew well, and it was heavier than the light stride of his ill-tempered chatelaine. As he knew her even without looking, he did not raise his eyes.

"I was wondering where you had gone. I didn't see you when we arrived", he said as he felt her hands on his shoulders. There was a low, throaty laugh.

"You seemed busy. I thought to save the greetings for later", she said, the drawl of her voice revealing how much she had waited for this moment. Éomer could feel her breath against the side of his head and he thought she might go straight into the business – wouldn't have surprised him in the slightest – but she seemed to have something else in mind.

Brithwen made her question: "Who was that girl you were riding with?"

Now Éomer looked up at the woman by his side. The light of candles revealed the shade of fire in her auburn hair and made her tanned skin glow. Her blue eyes did not hold the jealousy he had been sure to see, as in times before she had sometimes succumbed to that feeling – rather, he thought he saw a playful glint in her gaze. Her array was simple but sturdy, as any Shieldmaiden's.

"Just a fugitive from Dunland. We found her lost in the wild, and as she had no other place to go, I decided to bring her here... she's going to work under Athilda's command", he explained. Brithwen snorted as an answer and idly rubbed her hand across the back of his neck.

"That old troll-wife must be delighted", she said dryly. Then she pouted, "You never let me ride with you like that."

"That's because you have never had the misfortune of losing your horse or wandering all alone in a strange land", Éomer pointed out and downed the last of his ale. He had a good idea now of how to get rid of his headache, and judging by the look on her face, the same thought had occurred to her.

"Hmm. My brave Marshal, always hurrying to save and help wounded things", she crooned, leaning closer to him. When she kissed him, her mouth tasted of the bitter ale she liked. She smiled at him, "Let's go to bed. You look like you're in the need of a good relaxing."

"Aye. Let's do that."

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** And here is a new chapter! I hope you liked it, my dear readers. :) I'm not sure I'll be able to update before the new year, but I'll see what I can do about it!

The board is now mostly set the way I wanted it, though I couldn't resist that little cliffhanger in the end. Well, you know me and my evil little ways! I should imagine we will learn more about these circumstances in the next chapter.

This story was originally a retelling of the fairy tale called "The Goose Girl", which I now can reveal without spoiling anything. However, it quickly became clear I simply couldn't make my story fit in: Lothíriel simply wouldn't agree to the idea of being married off to some foreign prince, and when the deceitful maid tried to steal her identity, she put up one hell of a fight. Not to mention, the talking horse would not have been possible, either. So I had to rework a lot of stuff, and as a result this really couldn't be called a retelling anymore. But I still liked the idea of a princess becoming a peasant in a foreign land (though in this story it's because of necessity than because of being forced by someone else), and that's what I _could_ incorporate in this story. I would say Lothíriel becoming a servant in Éomer's household is partly by her own choice and partly because of an accident: the death of her knights obviously plays a part, but she's also tiny bit clueless of what to expect. Not to mention, she's quite scared of trusting anyone - even Éomer. She may not completely understand what she's getting into here, but I'd say at the moment she's too relieved to really care.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **Thalia -** And I'm glad to hear you like it so much! Yes, she is having pretty hard times, but at least she now has safety and a place to stay. She does indeed have her father's letter still (I should probably have made that clear in the last chapter), because she had it along with his ring in the purse on her belt.

 **Felion -** Yes, she is now in Rohan for good! :) I was looking forward to this as well.

I don't know how soon Lothíriel might find the courage to tell the truth to Éomer, especially when she's convinced she now has the safety and cover she was hoping for. But we'll see how things go from now on!

 **Anonymous -** I admit those poor knights were doomed from the beginning, and this chapter should explain why that is. Had they lived, this situation wouldn't have been possible. But while she might not yet trust Éomer with the truth of her identity, I think on some level she knows she can put her faith in him, and that is what I tried to show in last chapter. So I'm glad you think that sense of safety came across like that!

 **sailor68 -** Thank you! :)

 **SuziQ22 -** Thanks a lot! :)

 **littlerock77 -** Glad to hear that! I do my best. :)

 **Rachetg -** Yes, he did find her on quite a dire moment! But now Lothíriel is safe in Aldburg. :)

 **Abbyland -** Thank you! It's good to know my story manages to fascinate. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 _June 3018, Aldburg_

"Wake up, sleepyhead!" came the voice to startle Lothíriel in to the waking world. She had been dreaming of the sea, so waking up to the chilly hour of dawn was something of a shock – though truthfully speaking, most days she was still more or less shocked to be here.

Jerking up her head in sleepy confusion, she blinked her eyes and saw Saethryd kneeling next to her. The girl was one of the three servant maidens she shared a small chamber with in the Marshal's Hall, and as usual, Saethryd was already bursting with energy for the new day in a way that kept making Lothíriel envious. For her, these early hours of morning were not without a struggle.

However, the other girls bustling about, getting ready for the day, had her moving as well. Mumbling a sleepy _"good morning",_ she stumbled up on her feet and tottered over to the basin to wash up. Splashing some cold water on her face, she was able to push back the tangles of dreams and wash the sleep from her eyes.

The gown Athilda had given her on the first day of her stay here waited by her bedroll. It was a simple, green-grey dress, made of warm Rohirric wool. The girls had been kind enough to lend her their own clothes, so she could occasionally get her garments washed, and hopefully she'd soon have enough money saved to purchase some dresses of her own. She had few other possessions besides her bedroll – it had seemed like a cushion in a king's palace during her first night here, and still was surprisingly comfortable to sleep on – and her most important possessions she still carried in the purse on her belt. At times, she'd feel somewhat paranoid about the things in the purse, because they were proof she wasn't who she claimed to be. Though Father's letter had been washed by the bog-water, the most damage it had taken was the distinct smell of a fen.

As she dressed, Lothíriel thought of the three weeks she had spent here. Her days in the Marshal's Hall had already taken up the course of routine, and so it was easy to forget passage of time in the middle of household chores and getting familiar with the place that would be her home for the time being. There was a pattern to each day, which was somehow comforting, though she was quite busy.

Once she and the girls were clothed, they took a few moments to help with braiding each others' hair – Aengifu was particularly good with braids – to keep it from falling on their faces in their labours, and then all four burst out of the chamber and into the early hour's dim light. The princess was not on kitchen duty today, but that didn't mean she could head straight for breakfast. They still had to carry firewood to keep the ovens going and drag bucketfuls of water for the use of the kitchen staff. The sores on her hands had luckily healed fast enough so she could do such tasks – Lothíriel did not want to give Athilda any more reason to think she had no place serving in the Marshal's household.

As she and Saethryd made for the well to fill their buckets, the other girl looked at her with a slightly concerned expression. She was about the same height as Lothíriel, her head was crowned with glorious red-gold curls, and on her creamy cheeks freckles bloomed. Her eyes were a bright shade of blue-green, which would sometimes seem almost turquoise. Saethryd would proudly say to any who didn't know her that serving in the Marshal's household was family business for her, as she came from a long line of serving maids.

"I heard you cry again last night. If something is wrong, you can tell me", she said now, her voice low and soft, implying uttermost confidence. To her great surprise, Saethryd had befriended Lothíriel on her very first day in Aldburg, for which she was enormously grateful. She had not thought to get many friends here, not with her tale of having some Dunlending kin. However, while Athilda was the chief of those who might hold it against her, Saethryd and her circle of friends did not appear to care one bit. It seemed like they considered more as one of the Dúnedain – knowing her appearance announced rather the blood of Númenor than of Dunland, she also told them she had been mostly raised with her mother's kin. That Daerien was a Sindarin name worked for this purpose as well, and hopefully all this would cover up for whatever slips she might make during her time here. Be it as may, with the servant girls, Lothíriel felt less alone in this strange new life she was now leading, far away from home, in a position no princess of her line had ever been in.

She looked away and bit her lip with some dismay. Sharing a chamber with three other girls did not make it easy to conceal her bouts of homesickness, which always seemed to come at night. Hiding her face in her pillow could muffle only so much sound, and apparently she was even crying in her sleep some nights.

"It's fine. I'm just missing my father and brothers. I'll get over it sooner or later", she said uncomfortably, though it was nothing but the truth.

"If you have difficulty sleeping, you could ask healers for something to help you rest", Saethryd suggested.

"Don't worry about me", Lothíriel said as steadily as she could, concluding the topic for now. While she appreciated Saethryd's concern, she didn't want to raise any questions here. And bawling away her nights would surely do so sooner or later.

When they joined the other servants in the hall a bit later, the place was already filling with people. Members of the household, riders and servants and families, were gathering to break their fast before the day ahead. Usually Lothíriel would feel ravenous by the time she got to have the first meal of the day, and so she was now as she sat next to Saethryd in one long table. While food was simple enough, it was good and filling, enough to keep the members of the household going until the next meal. Spooning away her porridge, she'd half listen to the conversations around her, trying to pick up words of Rohirric; she was already learning the basics, and the girls had been very helpful in giving tips, but it was not easy to try and familiarise herself with a language that was so unlike those she knew. But sooner she learned, the better.

The hall was now almost full, and like each day since her arrival, she stole a glance of the long table at the end of the spacious estate. There at the centre of it she saw Lord Éomer, surrounded by his closest men and advisers. On the days she was on serving duty and would stop by him to fill his cup or plate, he'd smile at her and ask how was her day – those were always moments to brighten up her mind. Today he looked somehow very serious, even more so than usual, and she wondered if something ill had happened in the realm. But then she realised she was staring and she quickly turned her gaze back on her plate.

Once they had finished eating, it was time to receive their orders for the day – a moment Lothíriel did not look forward to, as she never knew on what mood Athilda might be. Some days the chatelaine would not pay her much attention, but others the woman seemed bent on making clear just how much she loathed the foreign girl in their midst. On those days the princess would be given the most unpleasant chores, or perhaps those which would have her working late into the night. Even in one of her better moods Athilda would not pass a chance of informing her she was as clumsy and dim-witted as they got and had no business serving in a court like the seat of Aldburg. In times before, such treatment would have roused Lothíriel's pride and ire, and most likely she would have challenged the woman. However, wandering alone in the wild had not left her with much dignity, and declaring war on the mistress of the hall was about the worst thing a serving maid could do. At any rate, she had been the head of Father's household to know the workings of relationships between servants, and she was well aware complaining to the Marshal would only make Athilda dislike her even more. But if she kept her silence and endured, perhaps the chatelaine would eventually relent.

Be it as may, she made no attempt to push herself before the nose of Athilda as the woman gave orders to the servants, rather choosing to hide at the back with Aengifu. Yet maybe Athilda did possess some extra senses when it came to spotting targets for her torment.

"Daerien!" she called sharply over the soft chatter of servants, "You will be cleaning the Marshal's chambers today."

"Alone, mistress? Could I have someone to instruct me, because I haven't done that -" Lothíriel started, the hair at the back of her neck standing up in sudden restlessness. She didn't know if the chatelaine would be so devious, but maybe the woman meant she should make a complete mess of cleaning the rooms of the lord of the house, so that Marshal Éomer might reconsider hiring her...

"Yes, alone. Is that a problem?" Athilda snapped before she could finish the sentence.

"Don't worry about it – he usually leaves his chambers fairly neat", Aengifu whispered from the corner of her mouth. Heartened by this, Lothíriel was able to give a smile to the chatelaine.

"No, not at all", she said as calmly as she could. And really, Lord Éomer did not really seem like the type to get angry because of chambers less than pristine.

When the servants had their orders, and Lothíriel had armed herself with supplies to clean the rooms belonging to the lord of the Hall, she entered the spacious chambers he lived in. A quick look about confirmed Aengifu had been right: it should not be an impossible task for a cleaner as inexperienced as herself. While she might have been giving orders to servants and overseeing their work for two years back in her home, it didn't mean Lothíriel had swept many chambers in her time. It certainly made her appreciate the skill and expertise of her father's household servants. But even if she were not the best and most experienced of serving maids, there were only so many ways you could bake bread or sew a stitch.

The Marshal's rooms, of which there was three, did not have great many pieces of furniture, expect for a bed large enough for a family of four, couple of chests, stands for his armour and a washing basin, a table by the window and comfortable chairs close to the fireplace. The separate bathing chamber was half the size her own back in Dol Amroth, but the tub there was massive – she thought two people could easily have used it as a hiding place. She was slightly surprised to find a small looking glass there, and quickly noticed it had to be ancient – certainly not the man's own purchase. Some soap, a razor and a wooden comb were laid by the mirror, proving the occupant of these chambers paid at least occasional attention to his appearance.

Gazing about herself, Lothíriel took a deep breath. _There's nothing to it,_ she thought, holding tight to her broom as though it was her talisman, _I must get to work._

Sweeping the floors with her broom, she couldn't help but notice how naked these chambers seemed compared to the rest of the Hall. There were no rugs or pelts covering the floorboards, or tapestries on the wall that might make the place a bit more homely. Then again, Lord Éomer did not really seem like the home-making type, and she wryly wondered if it even occurred to him how cosy his surroundings were. In that, he strangely reminded her of Amrothos. It brought a bittersweet smile on Lothíriel's face, but she rejected the thought of home and family.

The one task she didn't get eagerly into was changing the sheets of the Marshal's bed, though she knew it was expected. It seemed wrong somehow, as though she was prying into someone's privacy. Her fingers trembled slightly when she took a hold of the sheets in the bed in order to change them, and she could not avoid his scent filling her nose – a rich, intimate smell of male musk that had her blushing furiously. Here she was, the Princess of Dol Amroth, changing the sheets of an Eorling lord! If there were such thing as fate, hers must be more drunk than Amrothos at Midsummer Day's feast.

Strange it was indeed, that she should be here of all places, doing this of all things. But as she tucked the clean sheet under the edges of the mattress, Lothíriel knew it was her own doing: by choosing to appear as a girl from the lands of Eriador, she had got herself into this position... even if she had not guessed what consequences her hastily invented story would have. It was a life unlike any of the princesses of her line had known, and maybe her father would have been horrified to hear what had become of his only daughter. However, not a day passed by that she did not feel thankful. For even if she had been stripped of the pride and dignity of her line, and of the fine trappings of the station of a princess, the fact remained: she was alive, and she was safe, and she would have chosen this over the alternative any day. Lothíriel had been the head of her father's household long enough to know that to men like Uncle Denethor servants were no one – they had no faces or identities. To keep herself safe and hidden, she had become just that, and by humbling herself she remained out of sight and out of minds.

Lothíriel was nearly done sweeping the fireplace when sound of steps startled her; she jerked and hit her head on the arch above her. She let out a groan of pain and pulled back, only to see the Marshal himself towering above her. With wide eyes she stared at him and forgot about the ache in her skull, for the breath of wind was still in his golden hair and the sun's touch on his skin, and of all the absurd things she could think of the one to pop in her mind was the observation that he was rather fair to look upon.

"Please forgive me – I didn't mean to startle you. Did you hurt yourself?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned, which made her blink in surprise. She knew very few noblemen back home who would have been so interested in the well-being of a servant. Rather, they would be more concerned about having to watch a servant doing their job.

Remembering she was supposed to answer, Lothíriel hurried to offer an awkward little smile to the lord of the house.

"It's fine, my lord. I was just lost in my thoughts and didn't hear you enter", she answered, rubbing at the spot on her head she had hit. He spent one moment more watching her, and she busied herself with gathering the ashes inside a cloth she could use to carry them out. But then, as he took seat and began to pull off his boots, he spoke again.

"How are you settling down here in my hall, Daerien?" he asked her.

"Very well, my lord. I feel like I'm getting a hang of this, and I'm learning some Rohirric. I'm grateful you let me be here", she said and gave him a slight smile.

"Don't mention it", he said simply. Then he looked at her a bit more sharply than before, "I hope Athilda isn't being too hard on you?"

"It's nothing I can't bear", she said softly. Though she had no choice but to lie about herself, she wanted to give him as much truth as she could.

Lord Éomer frowned, "If you want me to talk with her -"

"Please, no! I don't want her to think of me as a whiny child who goes running to you the first chance I get", she quickly said, and hearing her words he looked slightly surprised.

"You are as tough and tenacious as a maid of Rohan, Daerien", he stated, sitting on his chair with one boot off and other still on its place, looking like he had forgotten entirely about it.

"Does that surprise you, my lord?" Lothíriel asked, unable to stop from adding some mischief to her smile.

"Aye, it does. I never knew any of the peoples living west of Rohan, and least of all your father's kin in Dunland", he said quietly, and his words dampened her smile. She looked down, unsure of what to say, but he spoke again, "Forgive me. I did not mean to upset you."

She looked up at the man before her. For one reason or the other, he looked sad, reminding her of the night she had first seen him in her dream, and the shadow of many burdens on him... by now she had learned he'd often hide it, but there were moments, such as this was, when his walls would crack ever so slightly. She wanted to tell him she wasn't disheartened for the reason he might think, but Lothíriel kept her silence. It would not be wise to give him a reason to think she was not from the lands of Eriador... would it?

Suddenly, a thought occurred to her: would it be so bad to tell him the truth, if no one else?

His voice interrupted her thoughts, "Daerien? Is something wrong?"

"I'm fine, my lord. Seems like my head won't come down from the clouds today", she said and smiled reassuringly at him.

"Of course", he said, though she wasn't sure he was convinced.

Seeing she was nearly done with cleaning his rooms, Lothíriel began to gather her things, and she picked up the ashes to carry them out so she could pass the bundle to the gardeners in charge of kitchen orchard. But before she could go, the Marshal spoke to her again.

"Daerien, would you mind getting a few of your friends and drawing me a bath?" he asked her.

She curtsied, which probably looked clumsy when her arms were full, and answered, "I will see to it right away, my lord."

She was about to turn and exit the chamber when the tall man suddenly stood up on his feet and stepped next to her. He lifted his hand and she held her breath in abrupt feeling of uncertainty. Softly, gently he rubbed his thumb across her cheek, and the touch made her shiver, though she wasn't feeling afraid.

"There was ash", Lord Éomer murmured, hovering so near that she thought she could nearly sense his heat. His eyes held her, studying her as though he was rummaging through her head, seeking for... for something. It made her feel like he was just on the brink of realising who – and _what_ – she was, so close to the truth... she couldn't answer, and he continued, "You know if there is anything troubling you, Daerien, you can tell me?"

"Of course, my lord", she managed to answer, her voice thin and weak, and she felt like falling in the depths of his flaming eyes. What was happening? What was this spell that seemed to live in his very gaze?

When she exited his chambers, it took her five minutes to get back her calm.

* * *

 _What a strange girl._

With a sigh, Éomer took seat again, fixing his eyes back on his boots – the servant maid had distracted him so that he had forgotten his task right in the middle of it. She had a way of doing that, apparently, because he often found himself wondering about the puzzle that was Daerien. There was something that just didn't add up, but he could not point his finger at it... though by all means there shouldn't be any more questions left.

 _It's her Dúnedain blood,_ he told himself. Obviously, the girl took much after the kin of her mother, and had probably been brought up after their traditions rather than those of Dunland. That was why she seemed out of place, why her speech echoed a language more ancient than any tongue of Men. Though the kingdom of Dúnedain in the north was long gone, its people survived in dwindled numbers, and they were noble and valiant, friends of Elves and other strange things that walked in the wild. Their realm might be gone but their wisdom and grace remained, and Daerien had a part in that legacy – perhaps she was even a daughter of some ancient line of ladies of the west. Like a wild rose blooming after winter's snow has fallen, bearing the likeness of the summer that has passed.. with a wry smile, Éomer imagined her dancing on the fields with Elf children, hardly discernible among the offspring of the Immortal.

He shook his head to be rid of that idea, unsure of where it had even come from. But it did explain her flight into the lands east of Eriador. Though the riches and might of old were gone, Daerien had inherited all that was passed on between generations, and perhaps this had made a valuable pawn in the games of power between Dunlending tribes. Maybe her uncle had purposed to make some alliance by marrying her off to a contending chieftain, but her pride had not let her accept that fate. So she had fled, hoping to seek shelter among her kin in south, where others of Númenor's race lived... she would blend in with them like one born in that land, and he thought it would have been easy to take her for one of the southern Dúnedain who still ruled in Stoningland as noble lords and ladies. But Éomer quickly dismissed that idea. After all, how could a delicate, sheltered lady of Gondor possibly survive alone in the wild, or get so far and deep into the fields of the Riddermark? And when she had spoken of her uncle and the marriage he had arranged for her, Éomer had heard the truth in the fear that resonated in her voice – and he was quite convinced that powerful lords of Gondor would never sell their daughters in the way her uncle had attempted.

It was all explained. And yet there was an unquiet in his mind when he considered the girl he had found on the plains. _It's that dream talking,_ he reasoned, rubbing his forehead. It was making him think strange thoughts, look for phantoms when there was none. If he only could ask her about it...

 _No._ Talking about the vision would not be wise. And maybe it wasn't the only reason he felt troubled. There was something on her mind – he could sense it, just as he had before. Something lay hidden still, but Éomer had a feeling simply asking her would avail to nothing. Maybe patience was the way around this mystery: once she felt reassured enough, and knew her secret would be safe with him, she might open up.

At least he hoped so. Otherwise, he had no idea where this riddle might drive him.

* * *

Before dinner, Athilda had them preparing linens for the healers from some old sheets. The task was overseen by Heagyth, who was more or less the chatelaine's right hand, though she was not even half as dour or frightening. The girls chatted away happily, switching between Rohirric and Common Tongue, and their conversation was accompanied by much giggling.

The reason for their giggling was, unfortunately, quite clear to Lothíriel. For she had asked for their help to draw a bath to the Marshal, and apparently they had seen the lord of the house in nothing but his breeches. While she couldn't deny the reaction of her friends had roused unseemly curiosity in her as well, she decided it was probably better she hadn't seen such improper glimpses. But Heagyth was not quite so impressed with the girls savouring the sight of a half-naked man or their ideas of what to do to said individual.

"You silly geese! He's not going to take to wife one of you frivolous things. When that man marries, it will be with the daughter of some great lord", she said, sounding exasperated, but the girls would just laugh in answer.

"Who says I want to marry the man?" Saethryd asked mischievously. Her friends laughed even more, but Lothíriel felt her shade was starting to resemble beetroot.

"Good luck with that. As if Brithwen would share him with you", Derehild snorted as an answer.

 _Brithwen._ Though Lothíriel knew not why, somehow the mention of the Shieldmaiden's name troubled her. When on her first morning she had seen the tall woman standing very close to the Marshal, she had asked Saethryd if that were his wife. The thought had made her feel oddly disappointed, like he had been keeping some secrets from her, although there was no reason to feel so – Lord Éomer's private life was not any business of hers. But Saethryd had shaken her head, and she had whispered: "Of course not. She's his mistress, you see. "

Seeing Lothíriel's confusion, she had explained, "Among Rohirrim, it's not uncommon for the young and unmarried to enter such agreement. Sometimes it even results in a marriage. But in any case, for a woman it can be very advantageous to be the mistress of a mighty lord like him."

"Oh", was all the princess could produce as an answer, which Saethryd seemed to misinterpret.

The young woman had shaken her finger at her, "If you're sizing her up and thinking of taking on her, I wouldn't recommend it. Brithwen is a Shieldmaiden and she's quite jealous of her prize stallion."

Her choice of words had Lothíriel blushing – she was still not used to the earthy sense of humour of these people – but she did manage to grimace at her new friend.

"Who says I want to challenge her? I'm thankful for what the Lord Marshal has done for me, but that's it", she had said firmly. But Saethryd had laughed and patted her shoulder.

"I'm just teasing you, Daerien. You're the most adorable thing when you blush", she had said lightly, and as an answer, Lothíriel could only snort and roll her eyes. To herself, she entertained the idea of introducing herself to the Shieldmaiden, because it was not like one would often meet warrior women in Gondor. From the books back in Dol Amroth she had learned that the women of Rohan would sometimes take up arms and fight alongside the men, and their deeds would be recalled in songs and tales with just as much honour and glory. Certainly such a lady would have a story or two to tell. In the end, she did not find it in herself to actually go and talk with Brithwen. What could a mousy girl like herself say to a battle-hardened Shieldmaiden, anyway?

Now, returning from her recollection, she looked around the faces of the servant girls, "Does Brithwen ride with the Marshal and his éored?"

"She used to, before her father passed away and left her in charge of three young siblings and an alehouse", Aengifu answered, and Lothíriel fell quiet. She supposed it explained why the Marshal would love the Shieldmaiden – they were both people fending for others.

And fend for others they did: at least in Aldburg, it was agreed the Marshal and his éored – the word meant all those men who rode with a commander such as Lord Éomer, as Lothíriel had learned – were among the bravest men of the Riddermark. Though the Marshal and his riders were the only Rohirric warriors she had met, she could easily understand the pride of the folk of Aldburg. As they set for their patrols or returned from their battles, wind in their hair and determination on their faces, she would stop by and watch these ferocious riders and silently admire the strength they and their horses would emanate. To herself, she wished her brothers could have been here, as she imagined they would have loved to get to spar and train with Marshal's riders. Ruefully she also thought of her poor brave knights, who had been so eager to learn from the Rohirrim. As she learned more of this people of warriors, she knew they would have greatly appreciated the courage of the five men who had died to save her.

At dinnertime, when they arrived in the great hall for the supper, the place was nearly full already, but Saethryd was able to find them seats in one table near the centre of the space. As usual, the atmosphere was noisy and merry and there was chatter and laughter and clatter of plates. Today's meal consisted of lamb-stew, which was quite delicious; though the Eorling cuisine did not know spices as varied and exotic as back in Lothíriel's home, the use of herbs – picked wild from the glens or from the hall's kitchen orchard – was truly ingenious. Yet even if food was good, Lothíriel ate only with a moderate appetite, while her friends spooned away on their portions and chatted lightly. For some reason she did not feel very hungry tonight, but she tried to eat anyway, as she needed to keep up her strength. She thought if she should go early to bed today, though the evenings in the Marshal's Hall were often a time she would look forward to in the morning. Because those members of the household who didn't have families, or didn't go to town to see friends and sweethearts, would gather in the hall: there would be songs and tales and games, and while Lothíriel didn't understand most of it, she enjoyed the atmosphere. Derehild would be happy to translate, and the princess would struggle to understand the words she did not yet know.

Often it was the very sound of the foreign tongue that twisted her insides into knots and formed a lump at her throat, because it made her realise just how far she was from home. Lifting her eyes from her portion, she looked around herself, wondering at how she could feel so alone in the middle of so many people. They were laughing and talking, and she wanted to be a part of that so badly it made her stomach turn. However, no matter what efforts Saethryd and other girls made to include her, she knew she couldn't truly fit in here, not as long as she had to lie about herself.

Then, as she looked about, her eyes came to rest on the Marshal's table and the man at the centre of it. Sometimes, Lord Éomer would join the company at nights, and he'd be honing his sword or carving something out of wood while talking with his folk. Then she would at times encourage herself and go share a few words with the man, and his smile would reassure her for yet another day to come. She knew why he'd make her feel so: the Lord of Aldburg had been the first thing in this land that had made her feel safe, and he had given her a chance to keep from the hands of her uncle. There were moments Lothíriel wished she could tell him how thankful she was, and hopefully, one day she would.

But other nights he'd not make an appearance, even if he were at home, and she knew it was because of an auburn-haired Shieldmaiden. And like when ever she'd see the Marshal standing near his mistress and his hand would be in her hair or perhaps move against her neck in an undeniably intimate caress, the princess would quickly turn and feel deeply confused, even troubled. What was the root of that feeling, she could not tell, and it unnerved her. Until now, she had always been able to make sense of the workings of her mind, and at least Aredhel had been there to help her. But that all had changed and she was left alone to try and manage all the uncertainty and bewildering feelings this place caused in her.

"Daerien? Are you all right? You look really pale", spoke the voice of Aengifu, interjecting with her thoughts. She jerked on her seat and looked up to see three pairs of eyes, fixed on her. Full of questions they were, but none were uttered – by now, they had apparently decided she was too traumatised to talk about whatever was behind her. Saethryd in particular seemed concerned, doubtlessly thinking of their conversation this morning.

"I'm just tired, is all", Lothíriel answered and gave them the best smile she could. Their expressions remained unconvinced, and unwilling to explain or try to reassure them, she struggled up on her feet. "I think I'll go to bed early tonight. Don't worry about me."

* * *

Lothíriel did feel tired when she trudged into the small chamber she shared with the other girls, but when she had undressed, washed up and crawled under her blanket, what weariness she had felt seemed to more or less slip away. As she lay there, listening to the sounds of the hall, she thought maybe this was not the weariness of the body, but of _mind_. Though she was doing her best, and though she was thankful for the chance staying safely in this place rather than returning home, it was not easy to keep up this charade. She supposed it was in good part because there was no one to talk to... no one to support her or hearten her when she doubted. And it was a terrible thing to bear when she was also missing her family so much.

The girls came in a couple of hours later, whispering between each other, probably thinking she was asleep. Having no energy to try and keep up her pretension, she let them believe so. Yet like before in the hall, their murmured conversation brought her a pang of yearning: that she could belong as seamlessly as they did.

Eventually the noise died in the chamber as the three servant maids laid down on their bedrolls and their whispers quieted. Their unburdened minds succumbed to sleep quickly, leaving Lothíriel listen to their even breathing. In this quiet hour, when there was no work to put her mind into, the thoughts of her family were closer than any other moment of the day: she remembered home, the tide rushing to the shore as she raced with Summer on beach, the smell of flowers in spring, the sound of Sindarin her native tongue, and the storms rolling from the sea. She thought of Father's laughter and her brothers gently teasing her, little Alphros making sand castles on the beach, and Aredhel sitting in sunlit garden. All of that seemed to belong to someone else altogether. And none of the ache caused by memories was helped by her grief for her poor knights who had fallen.

She could feel the tears starting to burn her eyes, but she couldn't end yet another day like that, and so in one brisk movement Lothíriel got up from the bedroll. She grabbed her blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders, and then, as quietly as she was able, she tiptoed out of the chamber.

* * *

The hour was late when Éomer finally decided his day was done. He had been composing a report for his uncle, which had taken him a good deal of time – while his mother had made sure he had mastered the skills of literacy and penmanship, it was always laborious work to write.

Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his shoulder and thought if he should go to bed already. He quickly decided against it, because so many things were on his mind: the patrols in the borderlands, his upcoming visit to Edoras and council meetings there, the frail health of his uncle, the cunning words of Gríma Wormtongue... no, at such a mood, sleep was unlikely to find him. He could have paid a visit to Brithwen's alehouse, a place called Green Spear, but this idea he abandoned as well. She was working tonight and would not have any time for him. And while drowning his cares and griefs in ale might have been a tempting thought, he knew it was not a wise course of action.

Eventually Éomer decided it was a cup of tea he needed, to soothe and relax him enough to seek the solace of rest. So he got up and ventured out of his dusty chamber, stretching his limbs, which were stiff from sitting too long behind his desk.

The hall was quiet now when most of the household had retired for the night, and only a few torches gave light to the shadows. But to him, this was a safe darkness: he believed he would have known his way around this place even if it had been pitch black. But still, he kept struggling to feel at home in Aldburg. Th walls were the same as in his childhood, the furniture had not been changed much, and still... taking up his father's seat had felt like he had returned home after long absence, and found that everything he knew and loved about the place was gone. In a way, he had been drifting ever since his parents had died.

He met only a pair of guards on his way to the kitchens, and they exchanged nods in greeting as Éomer passed them by. He didn't expect anyone else to be up at this hour, so he was slightly surprised when he upon entering the kitchens he saw a figure by the light of fire, dressed in nothing but a night shift. Her long, dark hair betrayed her identity right away; even in a crowd, she was hard to miss with her looks that spoke so strongly of her Dúnedain blood and the ancient grace of Westernesse. In fact, he wondered why the girl had even mentioned Dunland – her appearance and manners were such a clear proof of the blood of Númenor that one wouldn't probably have guessed she had kin among Dunlendings. Certainly it would have made her life easier here, for the descendants of Númenor had always been friends of the Mark... but his musings came to a close, because now the thing to catch his attention was the way her tresses cascaded freely down her back, and he was tempted by an urge to go to her, to run his fingers through her hair... if only to see if it were as soft as it looked like.

Apparently she had heard him enter, because she jumped around, and fire's light shined through her shift, revealing the silhouette of a slender figure underneath. He drew in breath and stared, unable and unwilling to tear off his eyes. Had he wandered into another dream? Perhaps he had passed out by his desk, after all... But then she let out a soft little gasp and grabbed what looked like her blanket, wrapping it around herself and hiding the vision which had frozen him where he stood. Yes, he was quite awake.

Recovering his voice, Éomer spoke, "It's just me, Daerien."

"My lord! You startled me!" she said, though it looked like she was relieved it was him and not someone else. This was the second time he had frightened her, and he had to wonder where did her mind go when she thought she was alone. What was the toil she carried on her shoulders, so unwilling to share it with anyone?

"Forgive me. That was not my intention", he said and offered the girl a reassuring smile, which she somewhat returned. Past few days, he had found himself looking forward to seeing her; the sweet smiles she'd always give him would make him feel she was always so happy to see him, and in being so gladly welcomed there was something irresistible. Yet now her smile was not quite the kind he knew, and instead of shining stars he saw shadows in her eyes. Truly, what was troubling her?

"It's fine. This place just makes me a bit jumpy at nights", she said and shook her head. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought to come here and make myself a cup of tea. Would you like some, my lord?"

"Gladly, as I was on a similar errand", he said and approached her. There was a stool nearby the oven, and he took seat there, watching as she poured tea into mugs. Though the fire gave a lovely shade to her face, he thought she looked paler than usually. But before he could make any comment, Daerien spoke.

"So, what's keeping you up at this hour, my lord?" she asked and offered him the other mug, which he accepted with soft thanks.

"Just the matters of the realm. A Marshal's work never really ends", he said and took a sip of his tea. He was suddenly glad she had brewed it and not him – in his hands, tea usually ended up too lame or too strong.

Éomer looked at the maiden as she took seat as well, and for another unguarded instance he found himself admiring the sight of her hair opened and spread on her shoulders – he had not seen her wear it so before. But before that thought could take a hold, he searched her face and asked, "What of you, lass? Why aren't you in your bed?"

Daerien did not respond at first. She held her mug between her hands and stared at it in silence, before she slowly spoke, "I keep thinking of my home and my family. I miss them so much."

Something expanded in his chest when he saw her expression, and how young and vulnerable she seemed that moment. At times one might forget how tremendously brave she had been to leave her home, and how she still continued to be. Living here with strangers, among people who might hold her father's kin against her... though he already had many burdens to carry, he would have gladly taken the one she had on her shoulders.

"I'm sorry that you had to leave them", Éomer said as gently as he could. She didn't say anything, but she didn't need to: her quiet sob was quite enough. Quickly he put aside his tea and reached to touch her, to clumsily rub her back to offer what comfort he could. Quietly she sniffed, hiding her face behind her hair as she tried to get her emotions under control. Meanwhile, he murmured whatever sweet nonsense came to his head, though he knew words could not change her situation.

Daerien wiped her eyes on the edge of her blanket and looked at him with a tearful little smile on her reddened face.

"I'm sorry for weeping like this. Do the lords of this land often comfort their serving maids?" she asked, her voice embarrassed.

He smiled wryly, "I can only speak for myself, lass, and I do not take pleasure in seeing an unhappy face, no matter whose it is."

Then his smile became a slight frown, "If only I could help you more, Daerien."

She shook her head quickly.

"It's fine, my lord – you have already done more than your share to help me. I know it may not look like it when I'm bawling like a child, but I am very grateful to you. Your kindness has already pulled me trough a great deal of pain", she said seriously, and she reached to touch his hand.

Éomer sat silent. He was not often left feeling so dumbstruck, without any words of response. This girl... this impossible, soft-spoken maiden he had first taken for an elf... he was already reaching to meet her offered fingers with his own when the arrival of another individual alarmed him, and he sharply turned to look at the door of the kitchens.

There stood Athilda, clutching a shawl around her shoulders. Why she should be awake at this hour, Éomer could only guess; then again, he was aware the woman required less sleep than most people he knew. Daerien by his side startled slightly and tensed, which reaction made him frown. If Athilda was treating her so unkindly when she she was so upset as her tears just had revealed, he would need to have a word or two with the chatelaine – even if the lass herself had told him not to.

"Daerien, why are you still awake? You know it will not be helpful with the chores you have tomorrow", Athilda said now, and hadn't the maiden answered so quickly, Éomer might have intervened right then.

"I'll head for bed right away, mistress", she said, took a mouthful of her tea, and got up from her seat. She hurried away, her light little feet making no sound as she went. With some dismay, he noted she had barely had time to touch her drink. Worriedly he thought if it was good for the lass to return to the shadows of the night all alone, and to facing again her longing for her family. But he did not think the chatelaine would have understood any of that.

"You are too hard on her, Athilda", he said said to the ill-tempered woman when Daerien had gone.

"And you are too mellow, my lord. Have you forgotten who she is?" said the chatelaine, crossing her arms on her chest.

"We've had this conversation already, mistress", he said wearily. "Knowing you possess excellent memory, I do not believe I need to remind you of my opinion."

"You do not, my lord, but I still think you are making a mistake. This girl does not belong here among Eorlingas. She's a liability not only to this hall but to yourself as well, and in this time such compassion towards a daughter of Dunlendings might not be in your best interests", Athilda stated coolly.

Éomer looked at her just as hard. It was useless to try and argue with her about this, but he needed to make her understand this was not something he'd change his mind about. After tonight, he was even less inclined to do so.

"And if you prove to be correct, then I will accept and endure the consequences. But no matter what you say will not make me send her away. She is not just of Dunland, she's also of the Dúnedain, and our allies in Gondor have that blood as well. It is high time you understand that, Athilda", he told her sternly. She did not look pleased, but then again she rarely did.

"Well, I hope you know what you are doing, my lord", she stated at last and wrapped her shawl tighter about herself and turned around. The chatelaine left the kitchens as quietly and swiftly as she had appeared. One might have thought she had never even been there.

Éomer sighed and rubbed his forehead – for the moment his mood had become even more uneasy than before. It would be a wonder if he could rest tonight at all... but then, as his mind threatened to grow grim, he was reminded of the grey-eyed maiden's words: _your kindness has already pulled me through a great deal of pain._

Despite all, he had to smile. It was words like hers that reassured him, made him believe his efforts were not for nothing. _If I can save even one life..._

Perhaps he might sleep peacefully tonight after all.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** So, while that shouldn't be a surprise to anyone, my muse got wild on excessive amounts of chocolate and wine and you, my dear readers, get an early update! Hope you liked it. :)

Lothíriel is now nice and snug in Éomer's hall, and approximately three weeks has passed since she came to be in his service. It's moderately easy for her to assume the position of a servant, because she's not entering it completely unaware of what goes into work of the servants. Obviously it takes some work and adjusting (which doesn't really make Athilda to like her), but she can manage better than the average noble maiden of her age.

That's also a part of the reason why she's able to fool the people of Aldburg. Rohirrim have their own ideas and prejudices about Gondorians, and they (Éomer among them) go with what they know and believe. To them, it's highly unlikely that a noble lady of Gondor would be able to survive in the wild borderlands (as for now, they don't know she had guards who gave their lives to save her). Even less possible they imagine the situation where a noblewoman would relinquish her pride and dignity and accept the position of a servant. As Lothíriel is not trying to pose as a full Dunlending, but rather as half Dúnedain (who are of Númenor, just as her own family and line), Rohirrim buy her story. If she acts strangely or seems to possess some unusual grace, they mostly write it off as her Dúnedain heritage: after all, they are somewhat shrouded in mystery and have dealings with Elves and whatnot. And Éomer, while he is open-minded enough not to mind Lothíriel's supposed Dunlending father, is not entirely without prejudices. He thinks rather highly of Rohan's allies in Gondor, and he's inclined to believe that Dunlendings are more likely to use their daughters as Denethor meant to use Lothíriel.

At any rate, there is definitely some chemistry starting up between them, though they don't really notice that themselves yet. We'll see how that goes. ;)

Thanks for reading and reviewing, and Happy New Year!

* * *

 **TMI Fairy** \- Actually I already did explain away this "glaring weakness". Lothíriel is not trying to pass as a full Dunlending – she's well aware it would not fly, and Éothain does point out she doesn't look like them. Instead, her new cover story is that her mother was of the Northern Dúnedain, who are descended from the Exiles of Númenor, just as her own family and kin. This affinity allows her to present Éomer and his men with a somewhat believable story, and they think her so traumatised they don't ask her many questions as of yet. And because of his dream/vision Éomer, though he doesn't realise it at this time, is biased to believe almost anything she says. His men trust him enough to go with whatever he thinks is right. Not to mention, after wandering in the wild and swimming in a bog, she hardly looks like some noble lady. Also, I'm pretty sure Éomer and his men would expect a Gondorian noblewoman to be about the last person to survive all alone in the wild as long as she has.

Also, having studied books and scrolls about Rohan and Dunland, she knows enough to fool those who don't get too curious about her. Rohirrim don't speak the language of Dunlendings, so how would they find out she doesn't speak it either, especially when the people of Aldburg are more concerned with orcs than Dunlendings? And even if someone noticed she isn't like Dunlendings, she can still say she was mostly raised with the Dúnedain. Of course this all is very risky and hardly flawless, but please remember she's been through some quite traumatic events, she's dead scared of going back home, and she doesn't have great deal of time to come up with another plan. Perfect plans are a rare commodity, though readers sometimes apparently think people in fiction should always come up with flawless ideas, even if their circumstances don't allow it.

 **Katia0203 -** I haven't tried that game, though I've heard good things about it, and I do like the bits and pieces of soundtrack I've heard. :)

 **Rachetg -** You guessed right - Brithwen is indeed Éomer's mistress. This chapter doesn't explore their relationship that much, but perhaps we'll see more some time soon. :)

Lothíriel is safe indeed, but it's not easy being alone and pretending all the time. It's not going to get much easier, either.

 **sailor68 -** I'm trying to get to developing that little triangle, but first I had to establish a few things here. And yes, Athilda is quite displeased at this turn of events. She's really pretty blind in her hatred, but people often see only what they want to see.

 **coffeebookchiller -** I don't mind rambling! I must admit those are some of my favourite things to read from my reviews, because that means the story as impacted them somehow and they are immersed in it. And for a writer that is always a glad thing!

I'm afraid this chapter may leave more questions than it answers, at least in the matter of what Éomer feels for Brithwen. But I promise we'll get to explore that, too! Thank you for your thoughts!

 **EugeniaVictoria** – Actually, Éomer figures it out the moment Lothíriel claims her mother was from the north – he thinks she's descended from the Dúnedain of the North (who are also of the Númenórean stock, like her own line). There may have been some initial doubt in Éomer's mind, but as the scene where she tells who she is (or is supposed to be) is from her POV, we don't see his suspicion. But hearing about her alleged Dúnedain mother, he assumes she is just the image of her mother with little to no interference from Dunlendings. And, at the time, Lothíriel is freshly come out of her wandering (which as you may recall included a dip into a bog), so I would imagine she's not looking very princely. Not to mention, she's quite distraught at the time and speaks very little.

And, though he doesn't actually realise it's happening, Éomer is biased to believe whatever she says (just as Athilda is biased to think ill of her). Because her story has some truth, he doesn't notice the lie, and her grace and manners he just takes as a part of being descended from the people of Númenor.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 _June 3018, Aldburg_

Returning from a ride to inspect his herds, the first thing Éomer saw in the courtyard of his hall was the dark-haired head. Why his eyes should be drawn to her before anything else, he didn't know, but perhaps it had to do with the encounter in the kitchens. It was good to notice her spirits seemed to have improved since then.

Daerien had been dragging a bucket of water, but upon his arrival, she stopped by and looked at him... or, rather, she was looking at Firefoot. Being a horseman, he could easily recognise the way she watched the horse.

"Good day, Daerien. How are you today?" he asked her as he dismounted; a stableman approached with the intention of taking his steed, but with Éomer's quick gesture he fell back again.

"Good day, my lord", Daerien said and curtsied, smiling at him slightly. "Thank you for asking – I am quite well."

She hesitated then before continuing, though her eyes revealed her thoughts as they were drawn towards his horse. To encourage her Éomer smiled, and she inquired softly, "I never asked you his name."

"I call him Firefoot. He is a good, loyal steed – and endlessly fond of apples", he said with and patted the powerful neck of his warhorse, making the lass laugh. Firefoot, unaware of how his cravings were being discussed, nickered softly.

"He's magnificent", Daerien said and regarded the stallion with unveiled longing.

"You enjoy riding?" Éomer asked her, though she had already more or less revealed her own fancy. He was not particularly surprised, because to travel the way she had, unseen by the eyes of Eorlingas, would require skill in horsemanship.

His question made her smile, "I do, my lord. Back home, I would sneak away as often as I could, so that I could ride my horse along the -"

She fell quiet suddenly in the middle of the sentence, and he looked at her sharply, sensing she had almost shared some crucial hint to the mystery that still surrounded her. What had she meant to say? But the moment was gone and he could see her worrying her lip, the veiling of her eyes. Whatever thought was on her, it was not pleasant.

"Are you a good rider, Daerien?" he asked her in the hopes of distracting her mind from dark musings. To his satisfaction, her expression did light up a bit.

"Well, I do consider myself pretty good – in our standards, that is. And I always wanted to see the skills of the Rohirrim. I have heard many stories about your expertise in horsemanship", she said, and yearning was right back into her tone.

"That is a first – a daughter of Dunlending wishing to learn the ways of Eorlingas", he said with no small amount of surprise, though he reminded himself she was more of Dúnedain at any rate. But Daerien grinned as an answer.

"My brothers are quite fond of telling me I'm an odd one", she said lightly, and Éomer could not help but smile. Somehow, it was always easy to smile with her, as though she carried light in her pockets and shared it with anyone who might seek her company.

"So, I take it you miss being able to ride", he stated the obvious as an idea formed in his mind – if she wanted to learn to ride like the Rohirrim, who was he to deny her?

"Very much, my lord, but since I lost my steed in the fen, there is nothing I can do", she said and shook her head. This seemed to genuinely sadden her, which he could very well understand as a man of the Mark. It was also what fuelled his next words.

"I can't exactly gift you with a horse, but with my leave, you may borrow one of the horses in my stables any time you like", Éomer told her, and in an instant, the expression on Daerien's face changed. Her eyes lit up and she looked so happy that it was impossible for him not to share the emotion; it was like she was glowing warmth that spread to him as well, filling places that usually were kept cold and hard. The lass let out a squeal of delight, and she looked like she might jump to hug him. However, she halted in the middle of the movement towards him and instead just grabbed his hand. As if on their own, his fingers curled around hers.

"Thank you, my lord! Thank you so much!" she exclaimed in delight, smiling so brightly that it almost felt like an entirely new person was revealed in her. Éomer had seen her smiling before, but not like this, and such joy made her fair beyond all the words he could think of. It was almost dizzying.

Looking like she had only just realised the intensity of her outburst, Daerien blushed and looked down. She mumbled in a soft voice, "You are far too kind to me, my lord. I wish I knew how to repay."

"It would not be kindness if I expected you to repay, would it?" he pointed out, which remark made her smile again.

"Even so", she said, her eyes glimmering, "one day I will find a way."

He became aware her hand was still in his, and apparently she did too, as colour on her cheeks deepened. Her fingers slipped from his and he felt strangely bereft.

"I must get back to work, my lord. You know Athilda doesn't approve of her staff standing about", she said, curtsying at him. Her delighted smile lingered, though, and it warmed his heart – even now, as days darkened, such joy could still live. If that weren't a hopeful thing, Éomer did not know what was. Like one spell-bound, he watched her turn and go, and though she carried the heavy bucket, her step seemed to have a new sort of lightness to it.

He shook his head, feeling like one coming out of a dream, and gathered Firefoot's reins in his hand. The animal gave him a displeased snort, at which he gently patted his horse's neck.

"I know, I know. You don't approve of me loitering about when there's a brushing I need to attend to", he said to Firefoot. He could have sworn the horse's nicker was sarcastic.

He had taken his steed to the stables and started with caring for him when Brithwen made her appearance. She strode in a way that looked like she was itching to move more quickly, but was making an effort to keep her pace steady. From her pursed lips and furrowed brow he knew something was amiss.

"What is it, Brithwen?" he asked her, returning to the task of brushing Firefoot's grey coat. It was a task he liked to do himself as often as possible, but especially in these times Marshal's duties meant he simply did not have time.

"I saw you with that Dunlending girl. What were you talking about? Why was she holding your hand?" Brithwen asked bluntly, as was her wont, and he was not surprised that she had misinterpreted what she had seen. He suppressed a sigh – he hadn't known his mistress was around. But as the guards knew her, she often came and went in the Marshal's Hall as she pleased.

"She just told me she enjoys riding and that she misses doing it. So I promised to occasionally lend one of my horses to her", he answered and shrugged. He did not think it was a very serious matter, but Brithwen's eyes flashed in a dangerous way.

"You promised to lend her a horse?! She will probably steal it and ride away from here!" the Shieldmaiden snapped angrily. Her reaction would have astonished him, hadn't he known what it was really about. While she was mostly easy to live with, her random bouts of jealously would leave him scratching his head.

"No, she won't. You know full well I would not have made the offer if there were the slightest chance she can't be trusted", Éomer said, keeping his tone collected. Patience was usually the way around her moods, he had noticed.

"And what makes you so certain?" Brithwen demanded to know, staring at him hard.

"Because I know her and you don't", he told her calmly. "Brithwen, the world is not always black and white, and neither are people. That she has Dunlending kin doesn't make her a malicious enemy."

"And you of all people should know how it takes just one mistake to ruin a life!" she said heatedly, as though everything he said only angered her more. However, now the sensation was not just one-sided, and he looked at her sharply.

"How can you even imply it's the same thing? How dare you say something like that?" he asked, anger rising hotly in his mind. Firefoot's ears prickled curiously, perhaps wondering what would warrant such a tone.

"I dare and I must, because of how blind you are being!" Brithwen shot back.

"Who is blind here, I wonder? Is this because you are truly concerned about Daerien being some sort of a spy, or if you are letting your jealousy get better of you?" he asked scathingly, the words flowing out as only his hot temper could deliver them.

"As if I had any reason to be jealous to that little mouse!" she snapped back. Éomer glared at her, nearly allowing himself to enter a heated and pointless argument, but it occurred to him it would not earn him anything. Brithwen was beyond listening to reason now, and his patience was wearing thin.

"I do not ask you to like or befriend her. But you will have to accept the fact she is under my protection as long as she stays in my hall. Just leave the lass alone, Brithwen", he said, his voice calmer now. His mistress stared at him hard, looking like she was trying to come up with some kind of an argument. However, words failed her – something that did not happen often – and with an angry frown she turned around. Brithwen left the stables without another word.

Firefoot chortled softly and looked at his rider, but Éomer stood with his hands against the side of the horse. In a sudden moment of hesitation and doubt, he had to question his own judgement. Now yet another person had told him that letting Daerien stay here was not a good idea.

 _Am I making a mistake...?_

* * *

 _A week later_

The last stretch of the journey home was always the one Éomer liked best. There was the promise of seeing his home again, and the familiar faces of his folk who lived in Aldburg; the concerns and tasks that awaited him after his arrival would not yet enter his mind. Rather, he would take pleasure in the simple joy of racing his horse, and for a little while the world and its cares would be far. He might even momentarily forget his most recent visit to Edoras and the deterioration he would witness there... instead, he would be thinking of his sister – her solemn eyes, the hand she'd rest on his shoulder before giving him a hug that might have crushed a less hardy man, and her words insisting him to return soon. Often the things she said would veil other thoughts she would not speak out loud: _Béma with you till you return, brother, do not leave me alone in this world._

It was a rare thing that could distract Éomer when his mind was bent on return home, but as his company came closer to Aldburg, his eyes suddenly fell on an unexpected sight. Well, it shouldn't have been unexpected, because he had himself offered to lend a horse to the dark-haired maiden, but he was taken by surprise when he saw her softly cantering towards the town. By her side, another maiden was riding, and he recognised her as a servant of his household. The two women were laughing as they rode, astride as was the fashion among Eorlingas, and in this sight there was something that moved his horseman's heart in profound ways.

But that was not all of it: he was already fast assessing the girl's handling of the horse. Approvingly he judged she had a very good posture, and her manner held the ease that could only come with experience. Even if she were not taught in Rohirric ways, Daerien still looked like she was rather good. No wonder she had missed riding so much that his offer had given her such joy.

At his command, Firefoot slowed down to soft canter, and men riding with him cut their speed as well. The two young women bowed their heads to greet the riders, but both seemed slightly surprised when he came to a halt close to them instead of just passing them by on his way to the town.

Having exchanged greetings, he glanced between the two servant girls, "You were heading back to Aldburg?"

When he received two shy nods, Éomer gave them an encouraging smile, "You are more than welcome to ride with me."

The Rohirric girl did not seem so eager, but Daerien smiled brightly, quickly accepting his offer. He did not know why, but it made him glad. He urged Firefoot to move again, and the two young women followed suit, moving to ride by his side. Glancing at Daerien, he wondered when he had last seen someone who was so happy to ride. She must really have missed being in the saddle.

"I see you have made the best of my offer. How does it feel to be riding again?" Éomer asked, making Daerien look up sharply. Surprise melted away and she smiled at him, her eyes sparkling in a way that warmed his heart.

"It is wonderful! I really can't thank you enough, my lord – I feel like I have been imprisoned for a long time, and am suddenly freed again", she said brightly. There was something infecting about her mood, and now Éomer was smiling as well. She shifted in the saddle, looking at her friend, "Derehild was kindly teaching me some tricks. Here I considered myself a fairly good rider, but she has just proved there is an entire world I don't even know of."

The other girl bowed her head again and muttered something that sounded like a deprecation towards herself, but he gave her a brief smile. Most Eorlingas he knew were glad to share what they knew, especially when their pupil was so enthusiastic as Daerien.

"You must show me what you have learned some time", he said as they passed through the gates of Aldburg, but the girl on his side blushed and looked down.

"Surely it would just look pathetic to you, my lord", she said softly.

"Very few of us can boast having been born in the saddle", Éomer said evenly. "Trust me, I have been sent flying from the back of a horse quite a few times. I understand you better than you know."

The girl looked up and her eyes shined, and in her brilliant smile there was something that strangely made him feel short of breath.

"Well, who could possibly say no to a chance of riding with a master horseman?" Daerien asked. She let out a small chuckle, "My brothers aren't going to believe it when I tell them about this."

"It would be my honour to help you astonish them", he said, the words spilling out before he even had time to think of what he was saying. Derehild lifted her eyebrows and Éomer had to agree it was quite uncommon for Rohirric Marshals to be giving riding lessons to serving maids, especially those with a connection to Dunland. He reasoned it was just because he was tired and in the need of a distraction. And Béma, could a council meeting orchestrated by Gríma Wormtongue leave a man in the need of a lot of things!

And yet... it was strange how easily one's mind could be lifted. As they made way up the hill towards his hall, he listened to a multitude of questions concerning horses and riding, presented to him and Captain Éothain by Daerien. In the middle of her inquiries she seemed to forget about the boundaries between them, and she would look him straight in the eye – like they were equals. And he found it did not bother him at all. Her manner, her smiles, her thirst for knowledge were like a breath of fresh air, and suddenly he felt keenly alive. Her good cheer was infecting, just as her smile, and he thought he could have spent the entire day just riding up and down the hill, listening to her questions and answering them. When he saw the gate of his hall before them, Éomer bit back a curse, wishing there might have been some way to lengthen this ride. But it was at an end and he had much work to attend to – perhaps he might tackle some of his duties with a lighter mind than he'd have expected.

But when they had entered the courtyard, and he had dismounted and was reaching his hands to help Daerien down, Éomer's eyes fell on a familiar face. Near the doorway of the stables he saw the sour face of his mistress, staring at him in profound distaste.

In seconds, his fairly good mood was down in the gutter, and he sighed.

"My lord?" Daerien asked, looking at him uncertainly.

"I beg your pardon. There is something I must attend to right away", he said in a grim voice, striding after his mistress, who had already turned away in a display of offence. Knowing it would be easier to just face her wrath now, he made his way after the temperamental woman, preparing himself for the litany of apologies he would have to make.

* * *

Thankfully, reconciling with Brithwen was not usually very difficult. Her moods changed swiftly and her anger was as brief as it was fiery. So, most times it was not very hard to get back into her good grace. It might have been even easier had he pushed the right buttons because she fancied him, but Éomer was not a manipulative man. And he respected Brithwen too much to use her feelings to his own benefit.

Be it as may, he had gone to her and told her he was sorry for their argument before, and for whatever had dismayed her upon his arrival – he had reassured her that there was nothing for her to worry about. And while usually it was moderately easy to make up with her, this time it took an unusual amount of persuasion and reassurances. He wouldn't beg or grovel, but even in her fiercer bouts of anger and jealousy Brithwen never tried to make him do that; in the end, she had relented and let him back to her good side.

And so, that night after making their peace, she was seated opposite him in his chambers, she was chatting away about something, and things were as they should be. That was what worried him: if things were as they should, then why did he not feel as relieved as he should have? Why would all the weariness and bitter thoughts of his trip to Edoras assaulted him now? And why was his earlier good mood so entirely vanished? He had long since forgotten what Brithwen was talking about and instead, he was thinking of the nature of their relationship, and why did he insist on going back to her when he couldn't be what she truly wanted. The best answer he could think of was she was _familiar._ She was a way of constructing his life and, to an extent, of understanding it. The world didn't exactly make sense or grow more bearable with or without her, but at least the shades of sadness and care would howl a bit less loudly when she was around.

He was fairly satisfied with this conclusion, but it came a little too late.

"Éomer? Éomer! Have you heard a single word of what I've said?" Brithwen's voice demanded, and he was startled from his thoughts.

"What?" he uttered, aware of how it sounded like, but he knew he couldn't fool her. He hadn't been listening to anything she had said in the past five minutes or more, and his answers had mostly consisted of non-committal grunts and hems.

"Well, if you have better things to do, then don't let me distract you!" Brithwen snapped and stood up, but he grabbed her hand before she had time to storm out.

"I'm sorry – it's not your fault. I just have a lot on my mind", Éomer pleaded, seeking her eyes and hoping that she might see he really hadn't meant to ignore her. He did have a lot on his mind, and he was worried about his uncle, concerned for all the lives that depended on him, and all this while feeling the very world might just collapse on him.

Brithwen's eyes softened. She knew all too well the troubled life of a Marshal – she had woken him up enough times after what could only be called a nightmare.

In one swift move she settled astride in his lap, and she cradled his face between her strong fingers.

"You never smile anymore. Where are you, my dear brave man?" she asked him softly. "You are drifting somewhere I cannot reach. Where is your mind, Éomer?"

He would have loved to tell her something, but what could he say when he had no answer? No matter how much he wanted, he could not – would not – bring down his walls for her. So he just stared at her in silence, letting her look for her answer in his face and his eyes. Whatever she saw did not seem to hearten her much, for now she seemed as sad as he felt.

But Brithwen had not become a Shieldmaiden for nothing.

"Let me take away your sadness", she murmured against his lips, and he closed his eyes, so that she wouldn't see – wouldn't realise how futile it was even to attempt. But she'd try anyway, and he was so grateful that she did, although she was _right_ and he was _wrong..._

Her mouth was soft, ardent, demanding – he thought her kiss would have ignited any man's desire. But he only felt strangely hollow, as though the fire in him had simply died and could not be resurrected. He felt nothing at the touch of her hands as she slipped them under his clothes, traced his skin, tried to feed the flame which she had used to know. And yet he tried to answer – Béma, did he _try –_ even as he knew it was in vain.

Eventually, she realised that too. Brithwen pulled back and she looked at him, her eyes flat and just so scathingly disappointed, and he knew there was no explaining it away. _He was failing._

Éomer said nothing.

Her expression changed in a blink of an eye. It was like a flame was lit on her face, and if he hadn't been so terribly tired he would have tried to understand it, or attempted to put it down somehow. But now... now he could just look at her, see her anger, and do nothing.

" _I see._ Very well then", Brithwen snapped, leaping up on her feet, buttoning up her shirt quickly. "I'm going home."

"All right", he said; his voice sounded like a stranger was speaking. She noticed that too, because her eyes flamed, and yet this was a different sort of anger. She wasn't yelling at him – he could have worked with that, and maybe it would have snapped him out of this... this _lifelessness._ But Brithwen just seethed, her anger silently contained, except for her parting words: "Don't you dare tell me I didn't try."

When she was gone, he moved at last. With a sigh, Éomer buried his head in his hands, and he _ached._

* * *

 _June 3018, Aldburg_

When weeks had passed since Lothíriel's arrival in Aldburg, she saw Théodred Prince for the first time.

She and Saethryd had been sent to the markets to pick up some goods for Heagyth, which task came as a nice interruption to the day's chores. Lothíriel was happy to see more of the town she now lived in and of its people, but the long days in the Hall did not often give her a chance of wandering far. Apparently, Heagyth thought it was important to let her learn more Rohirric, and "You're never going to fit in here unless you learn to bargain like an Eorling."

Lothíriel had no idea of what that meant, but Saethryd, grinning as she spoke, promised to make sure she would understand perfectly. The princess wasn't sure if she should be worried or not.

They had just exited the hall, and Saethryd was chatting away cheerfully, when the company of riders arrived. As easily as by following instinct, they fell from the centre of the courtyard to make space for horses and men and the stablehands who had rushed to receive the steeds. The riders were much the same as those in the Marshal's service – bearded, long-haired men, broad of shoulder and fierce of glance. However, their leader quite stood out among them. At first, Lothíriel thought by some strange coincidence, a Gondorian man had happened to join a Rohirric éored: his dark hair, his features and his grey eyes reminded her more of her own people than of horselords. She took only brief notice of his armour, which bore similar devices as that of Lord Éomer's.

"Who is that?" Lothíriel asked Saethryd, keeping her voice as a whisper. The girl didn't need a clarification on who she meant.

"That's Théodred Prince, son of the King. He is cousin to Lord Éomer and Lady Éowyn", Saethryd answered, both the girls watching the company of riders. She quietly added, "Though they're really more like brothers than cousins. You see, Théoden King raised our Marshal and his sister like his own children, in his own household."

Lothíriel had wondered what had happened after Éomund's death, but as she was unsure whether that was sensitive information or something she was supposed to know, she had not dared to ask. But Saethryd's words painted a rather bleak image of the events caused by the First Marshal's passing. She wondered what happened to the mother of Éomund's children, though the words of her friend made it sound like she was gone as well. Even if Théoden King had taken in the two orphans, she could not picture it being a painless memory.

"I thought he'd look more..." Lothíriel started, but couldn't come up with a way to finish her sentence. Her friend picked up her meaning anyway.

"More Rohirric?" Saethryd asked and smiled. "It's because of his grandmother, Morwen Steelsheen – the wife of Thengel King. She was from Gondor, and it is said he looks a lot like her."

 _Of course,_ Lothíriel thought. She should have remembered that from the genealogies she had read and memorised. As a matter of fact, the Lady Morwen, still alive and ancient, was apparently related to her own father somehow, though distantly.

Looking from her friend back to the prince, she saw the lord of the house had come to greet his royal cousin. The two men stood face to face talking quietly, and Lothíriel thought they could not have looked more different. Where one was fair the other was dark, one cleanly shaven and the other sporting a beard, and the Marshal stood over half an head taller than his kinsman. Not to mention, the build of the Prince was wiry rather than broad, while Lord Éomer made no secret about the strength of his back and arms. She couldn't find much resemblance between their faces, except perhaps something in their cheeks.

"If Théodred Prince looks like Morwen Steelsheen, then Lord Éomer and Lady Éowyn have her height, her grace. Or that's what they say", Saethryd whispered to her friend. Then the girl grinned unashamedly, "I would imagine Brithwen would know a thing or two about that."

"Saethryd! Would you mind?" Lothíriel hissed, feeling her cheeks heat up with embarrassment. But the blonde girl just laughed.

"You're such a prude, Daerien. Now come along, before Athilda spots us standing about, ogling at handsome men", she said cheerfully, took the baffled princess by arm, and lead her away to the markets.

* * *

These days, Théodred was somewhat unusual guest in Aldburg. In times before, he had visited his cousin's home more frequently, both on business and leisure. He was a welcome visitor, even when he arrived with dark news, for Éomer had always regarded his cousin more a brother than anything else. And the prince was one of the few men in the realm he knew he could trust blindly; as long as Théodred stood, there was hope in the land.

The two cousins spent most of the afternoon in Éomer's study, sharing tidings and reports – where the Marshal was tasked with guarding the East-Mark, Théodred was the shield of the west. In times before, it had been rare for them to exchange news like this: such information would have been spoken of in the council meetings of the King. But as long as the poison of Gríma Wormtongue kept growing in the court of Meduseld, the Prince and the Marshal did not see any other way they could effectively do their jobs while keeping as much of their plans and strategies as they could from the loathsome man.

At the time of dinner, they were both glad to leave behind the study to enjoy some supper. With Théodred's men added to Éomer's household, the hall was tightly packed and full of noise. Not that he minded, or his folk; there was space in the long wooden tables and among Rohirrim, sharing food and ale with friends at supper was considered the highlight of the day.

He and Théodred had taken their seats at the centre of the Marshal's table, and when they were settled down, Daerien appeared to serve them ale. Éomer answered her shy smile with his own bolder one, gladly noting there was colour on her cheeks which had been missing as of late. His cousin only briefly lifted his eyebrows when he took notice of the girl, and once his mug was full, he thanked her. She curtsied and quickly moved away, her pitcher ready to fill more cups.

"She's not from Rohan, is she?" Théodred asked once the girl had gone. He dug into his portion of stew with good appetite.

It did not really surprise Éomer that the dark-haired maiden would stand out to Théodred. For a moment, he thought of telling his cousin everything, even the dream where he had first seen this young woman. But somehow his mind repelled the idea. Perhaps it was for the better to keep this to himself... and Théodred had enough to worry about as it was. He really didn't need to wonder if his cousin was going mad.

"No, she's not. She's from the western lands – her mother was Dúnedain, and her father a man of Dunland. My men and I picked her up from the plains about a month ago", Éomer replied and proceeded into a brief account on how Daerien had come to be in his household. His cousin listened in silence, spooning away his portion and occasionally sipping his drink. Once the Marshal was done, Théodred put down his mug and looked at the younger man in a mixture of wonder and doubt. Obviously, he found this affair quite odd.

"It's not every day you see Dunlendings hired in an Eorling household", he said at length, considering his cousin. "When is she leaving?"

Éomer shrugged; he was not very surprised that Théodred would take Daerien's paternal kin to account more than her mother's people. Being the guardian of the western fields, he had plenty of reason to be suspicious of anyone related to Dunlendings.

"I promised her she could stay here as long as she wants. She has not yet expressed any wish to leave, not to me at least", he replied and picked up his ale, though he didn't drink.

"That is... surprising. I thought you'd want to be rid of her as soon as possible", said his cousin, which made the Marshal frown. Why was it everyone else seemed to find Daerien's presence so odd?

"She works hard and causes no trouble. As far as I'm concerned, she doesn't need to leave any time soon", Éomer said nonchalantly.

"It doesn't bother you she's a daughter of our enemies?" Théodred asked. He looked like he had forgotten about his meal.

The Marshal looked at the Prince calmly.

"She's also a daughter of the Dúnedain, cousin – I understand she was raised among them, and only recently came among her father's kin", he pointed out, at which Théodred didn't seem to be able to answer. So Éomer went on, slightly softer now, "The girl is innocent, and my task is to guard innocent lives. As such I do not see any other course of action than to allow her to stay as long as she needs protection."

"Even so", Théodred said at last, and he did not sound quite so sharp now, "Wormtongue would love to use it against you. No matter what you do, I advise caution, Éomer."

The prince looked at the girl again and there was a slight frown on his face. When he spoke again, it was mostly to himself, "Strange. It's almost like she reminds me of someone..."

They did not speak more of the matter, but instead moved on to other topics. However, the Marshal did not push away the matter from his mind with the end of the conversation. Rather, it remained at the edge of his thoughts, and with it his doubt grew.

Three people had now questioned his reason to let Daerien stay, though with differing motivations; that did not console him but rather made him feel perhaps there was more in the scales against his decision than in its favour. If even Théodred was sceptical... was he being foolish, following the sign given to him in a dream?

The whole affair was starting to give him a headache, and so after Théodred had retired and he was free for the night, Éomer quickly stopped by his own chambers to get his cloak. Then, feeling like he might otherwise just crawl out of his skin if there were no relief, he headed out with the wish of escaping the world for the night.

* * *

After supper, Athilda had one more task for Lothíriel: to bring tea to Théodred Prince, as he had requested. When the chatelaine gave the order, there was a cool glint in her hard eyes, which unnerved the princess. Once she had the finished tray in her hands and she was making for the prince's chambers, she wondered what was Athilda's endgame in this. If she had to guess, it had to do with the fact Théodred was likely to be less than amicable towards anyone with Dunlending blood, as she supposedly had.

Lothíriel breathed in and out; she was here as Lord Éomer's servant, not the prince's. The two men were cousins, and if the Marshal vouched for her, surely the King's son would agree?

Knocking at the door of the prince's chamber was not easy with her hands full, but apparently the pitiful little rapping sound was heard by the occupant of the rooms, and the door was opened. Théodred Prince stood there in shirtsleeves, and she thought he looked strangely small without his armour, which rested on a stand at the corner. Unlike most of the broad, robust men of the Mark, Théoden's heir was more lithe and sinewy, though he had to be strong to be able to move and fight in so much battle-gear. If one had clad him in a Gondorian garb and put him next to Lothíriel's own brothers, she was sure one could easily have taken him for one of their cousins rather than Marshal Éomer's.

"My lord, you requested for tea", she said, pushing away her errant thoughts, and meeting the eyes which were not so different from her own. Though there was keenness she recognised, Théodred's eyes were cool and unreflective; should she spend more time with him, she was sure she would not be glimpsing any warmth or sadness in those eyes, even if their owner should feel such things.

"Indeed. Come in", said the Prince and he moved from way, allowing her to enter.

Suddenly, she felt uneasy. She had been disguising as a servant and running such tasks as the position would demand for weeks now, but somehow this was different. Théodred was a born royal, and if anyone were like to sense she was not what she pretended to be, it was him.

She bowed her head in what she hoped was a sufficiently subdued and demure fashion, keeping her eyes on the tray she carried. It was good she had already had some time to get adjusted to the role of a servant, to place bonds on her pride and sense of her heritage. Had Théodred visited Aldburg around the time of her arrival, he would surely have seen right through her.

The obvious thought occurred to her: Lord Éomer was of royal blood as well. Why was it he had not realised what and who she was?

"Are you quite all right, girl?" Théodred asked, bringing her back to focus. Lothíriel bit the inside of her cheek, silently angry at herself. It would be very foolish to lose her concentration here, when she needed to watch her every word and step.

"Yes, thank you, my lord. I am just a bit tired from the day's work", she said as timidly as possible, moving to lay the tray on a table nearby. All the while, she could feel the cool grey eyes on herself, but she kept her eyes strictly on her task of pouring tea and uncovering the biscuits from under a soft white cloth. Meanwhile, the Prince had taken seat by the fire again, and his unrelenting gaze felt like needles drilling into the back of her head.

"Where do you hail from, girl?" Théodred asked eventually, his voice distantly polite. However, she could feel the interest behind the feigned indifference.

"I come from the west", she said, trying not to fidget her fingers and finding it quite a challenge. At least she could busy her hands with folding the cloth and making sure everything was orderly.

"Is that so? I must say, I'm surprised. For I have fought many Dunlendings in my time, and you don't resemble them much", said the Prince, and she glanced at him only to see his sharp stare. _Careful now._

"That is an understandable mistake, my lord", Lothíriel said, keeping her voice as level as she could, "My mother was of the Dúnedain. I take after her kin."

"To be honest, I would rather have thought you are a maiden of the south", he said, and his eyes never left her face.

"That is understandable also, my lord. A people like mine lives in the south as lords and ladies", she said softly, "We are kin of old, for our forebears came from the sea, and yet our lives and fates are quite different."

"Indeed", said the King's son, and for a while he sat quietly. Lothíriel hoped her words had convinced him. She had no idea of what he might do if he guessed the truth about her... and yet, her tale _was_ rather strange. How could this Prince, no matter how keen, possibly imagine that a princess should have to seek exile in a strange land? Or be humbled to accept a servant's position in a Rohirric lord's hall...

"Do you need anything else, my lord?" she asked, having finished with the task of laying out tea and biscuits.

"No thank you, girl", Théodred said and reached his hand for a mug of tea, which she passed on to him. His fingers brushed at hers, and then before she had time to pull back her limb, he had already grabbed her hand in a vice-like grip. She gasped in surprise and yanked, but his hold was tight.

"M-my lord!" she managed to get out, quickly deliberating if she should shout for help. No one had implied the Prince was a perilous man! In a panicky burst of thoughts, she wondered if this were the reason Athilda had tasked her with bringing tea to the Prince...

"Calm yourself", he ordered in a cool voice, unsympathetic to her alarm. She blinked and stared at him, giving another tug to her hand, but still he held tight. But otherwise he sat still, holding tea in one hand and her wrist in the other.

"Why are you here, girl?" he asked her, his voice even and low, and she started to feel what threat he posed to her was simply in words.

"Lord Marshal did not tell you?" she asked back, wishing he might release her arm.

"He did say you had got lost in the wild and he promised a refuge for you, and a job as a servant. But I know him, and I know he has some other reason for keeping you here. However, he will not reveal it, not even to me", Théodred said slowly, staring hard at the princess.

"What he reveals or doesn't reveal to you is none of my business, my lord", Lothíriel said. She was rather proud of how disaffected those words came out, but the grey eyes of the Rohirric Prince still narrowed slightly.

"Indeed", he said, and momentarily, his grip of her wrist became tighter. "There is no chance you can go back to where you came from?"

"I'm afraid not", Lothíriel answered and pursed her lips. He _did_ see through her, knew something was off, but how much he guessed... she had no idea, but it wasn't like she could ask. But even if he did, he seemed to be willing to let it pass.

Théodred sniffed and let go of her wrist. She pulled it back quickly, fearing he might grab her again – it was more difficult to keep her thoughts in line when she felt threatened, and she didn't want to give him that advantage again. _Damn you, Athilda, it's on you if my cover is blown._

"Perhaps my cousin's household is then the best you can hope for", Théodred said at last. He sipped his tea, and she took it as a sign she could at last make her exit. But before she could step outside, the Prince spoke one more time.

"It might be wise for you to stay far from Edoras. As a matter of fact, I would not recommend visiting Westfold either", he said, his voice not particularly ominous, but neither did it reassure her very much. She glanced at him over her shoulder, and felt like she was nailed to the ground by his stare, "Stay close to my cousin. You may be right in thinking he's your best chance."

* * *

Guards by the doors of the hall acknowledged Éomer with silent nods as he passed and he returned the gesture without a word. On his way to the tavern he saw only a few other people – most of the folk of Aldburg were with their families, or perhaps at the alehouses spending away the night. As he made way downhill, expectation growing on his mind, his stride became longer and more impatient. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so in the need of just shutting out the grey, weary reality of his life.

Brithwen lived near the alehouse she had inherited from her father. As far as he could remember, she shouldn't be working tonight, and on such nights, if she didn't come to the hall, he might visit her for a few hours. Sometimes, she even let him stay until morning – though she always insisted him to get out before her siblings woke up. But being an early bird, it was no problem for him. It was late enough they should be in their beds by now, and so Éomer knocked softly at Brithwen's door. Her keen ears, sharpened by her Shieldmaiden's training, should pick up the sound.

It did not take long for his mistress to open the door, causing the orange light of fire to stream outside like an inviting nest of warmth. For a split second he thought she had been expecting him, and perhaps she had indeed, but not for the reason he first thought. She didn't appear very surprised to see him at her door, nor was she happy – her frowning face told him as much. Instead of inviting him in, she stepped outside and softly closed the door, shutting back the alluring light of fire. For a moment, the narrow alley was darker for the loss of illumination other than the moon.

Éomer opened his mouth to speak, but Brithwen was faster.

"What are you doing here?" she asked bluntly.

"I wanted to see you. And I think I still owe you an apology", he said, reaching his hand towards Brithwen, and pushing Théodred's ill tidings from his mind – the last thing he wanted to think of tonight were the burned homes of Westfold and the sign of White Hand on the helmets of orcs... all that worried him very much, and they would find a way to deal with it, but this was one night he just wanted to _forget._

His hand never reached the Shieldmaiden. As he extended it towards her, she flinched back and the flash of her eyes was a warning he knew. Éomer frowned, because it wasn't like her to hold a grudge like this, even after an argument.

"You're still cross with me?" he asked tiredly. Now his mood was becoming even less delighted than before, and he was in no mood for another disagreement.

The woman before him stared at him hard. In her eyes, there was no sympathy.

"What did you expect? I don't understand you at all anymore, you barely speak to me, and apparently the only times you can make yourself _feel_ something is with that blasted Dunlending girl!" Brithwen snapped, and there was so much _wrong_ with her words that he didn't even know where he might start. If she thought he couldn't bring himself to feel anything anymore, then she had never understood him to begin with: he felt _everything,_ he felt so much that sometimes he thought it might choke him. He had to contain so much anger and melancholy and frustration that it was a wonder he didn't just fall down and die.

"It's not about her. The girl is not important", he said at length, because he did not have words for the storm inside him... and still there was a tiny voice whispering in his mind, telling him the words he had spoken were not as true as he'd have hoped.

"If she's not important, why don't you send her away?" she asked him, and he wanted to shake her. How could she be so fixated on something like this? Éomer knew jealousy was one of Brithwen's less charming traits, but it had never taken such a stubborn form.

"I gave her my word, Brithwen, and that is that", he reminded her firmly – he could not go back on his promise just because she was being difficult. Then he assumed a more appealing look, seeking the eyes of his mistress in hopes of finding reason, "I didn't come here to talk about her. I came to see _you."_

"You still don't get it, do you?" Brithwen asked. Now, instead of ire, he thought he saw something sad on her face. "It's not about that girl. It's about _you._ You're so distant these days, Éomer – you're drifting away from me. That Dunlending is just a part of the problem. That's why you need to let her go. You need to open your eyes."

Her tone was soft and pleading, and more than anything in the world he wanted to give her whatever she asked for. But how could he give her this, when he didn't even understand what she ultimately meant?

"I'm not going anywhere, Brithwen. I'm right here. You have nothing to worry about. You must know that", Éomer said, desperately reaching for her again. But Brithwen pulled back again, and his fingertips only grasped for air. The sadness vanished from her face and once more, she assumed the stern cool look.

"Send the girl away. Show me that you truly want to work this out. Then we'll talk", she said, her tone final. As soon as her words were out, she opened her door and slipped in, leaving him alone on the n arrow alley.

The mixture of feelings was a choking one. Anger and disappointment and frustration and confusion all ran together, filling his mouth with a bitter taste and burning at the edges of his vision. Before he could think, he had already slammed his fist against the wall in an entirely unhelpful bout of emotion, skin tearing at the violent contact. It did not make him feel better, and bloodied knuckles would make Éothain ask unwanted questions. But at least it helped him gain control over the fire in his mind.

 _I screwed up well and thoroughly this time, didn't I?_

* * *

By the time Éomer returned to his hall, his thoughts had somewhat calmed down. Well, he was still feeling like utter shite, especially now that he knew he would have to face yet another night alone. Not to mention, he wasn't sure this resigned bitterness was better than flaming fury. He'd have loved to have a proper argument with Brithwen, complete with shouting and screaming and throwing things, the kind that would also result in making up wildly and passionately. Such instances there had been at times in past, but now he could feel something was different.

Was Brithwen right, then, saying that he was drifting away? At least he didn't feel like that, but wasn't surprised she had a view of her own, because she had always been more invested in their relationship as far as emotion went. Truth was, he had known from the beginning she had entered their agreement partly because of her feelings for him. She had never spoken of it to him, though, perhaps knowing those feelings were not returned – not in the way she'd have wanted at any rate. He hadn't spoken either, as he didn't want to cause her unnecessary pain.

It wasn't because Brithwen somehow wasn't lovable. It was just because at least now, his world was merely grey with an occasional burst of light and colour. If he allowed himself to love... well, he knew how easily people could die, even fierce warriors like her. And he had seen enough of death as it was, and to lose another person he loved... the idea of a life of blackness did not appeal to him one bit. But it was more than just shielding himself – it was also because he had watched how his mother's love had become poison which eventually killed her. Since the day she had died, Éomer had feared that the same defect lay in himself, living in his blood and waiting to stir. In times like these, when the Mark was threatened by enemies from left and right, someone had to hold up the shield and the sword. Long he had known he had to be that someone, and if he lost himself to grief... no, it could not happen. He had to be clear-headed and single-minded, and he could not risk it for the sake of a moment's bliss – even if it meant that ultimately, he would always be alone.

At least one thing went after his mind tonight, because Éothain was still in the hall: his wife Scýne had travelled to a village near Aldburg to aid her sister in her imminent childbirth. As a captain of the Marshal's éored, Éothain was required to stay behind, and with his wife away, he was not eager to spend the night alone in their home. Though Éomer knew how much Éothain loved Scýne, and was happy for them, he sometimes missed times past when his friend would spend the nights in the Hall, or join him for trips to the town.

The two men had been friends since their boyhood years, getting themselves into so much trouble that their parents must still be rolling about in their graves because of it. And later on they had trained together and joined an éored at the same time, riding to battles side by side. From the day Éomer had become a captain at the age of twenty-one, Éothain had been his right hand. To this day, he also continued to be his best friend. As such, in times of turmoil Éothain was usually the one whose company he'd seek.

Upon entering the hall, Éomer looked around the gathering there, and he was thankful to spot his captain. The man was standing by some pillars of the right side of the hall and chatting softly with a pair of younger riders, perhaps telling them some old war tales. Quietly the Marshal made his way to them, using rather the shadowy side behind the pillars than through the open space in the middle. All three riders nodded to greet as he joined them, and Éothain slightly lifted his eyebrows – Éomer had never been very good at hiding his moods from his friend. The captain was several inches shorter than himself, but somewhat wider by the shoulders, built to weather storms and endure strife. Éothain's hair was bright gold and his eyes blue as the summer sky, and though his face turned into a smile more often than into a frown, he was not the noisiest of men. Rather, he was more of an observer and a thinker, and that was the reason his more hot-tempered friend often turned for him when there was need of a second opinion.

Perhaps sensing the shift in the atmosphere, the two young riders excused themselves, leaving the Marshal and the Captain alone. Éothain didn't urge him to speak – the man knew he'd talk in his own time.

And talk was what Éomer meant to do, at least until a burst of laughter caught his attention. Around one long table there was a company of young serving maids of the hall, and apparently they were playing some word game; seeing Daerien was with them, he guessed their intention was to teach her Rohirric. Explanations and instructions came in a sharp bouts, and the dark-haired maiden looked a bit lost in the middle of it all, but judging by the delighted cries and applauds, she got the word right. The girl seemed genuinely pleased to have found the correct word, her eyes shined brighter than Elven jewels, and there was a lovely blush on her cheeks. Despite himself, Éomer smiled.

Where did that come from? he wondered and shook his head. At the same time Éothain cleared his throat and looked quizzically at him, and Éomer remembered he had meant to talk to the captain.

"Do you think it's a mistake to keep Daerien here?" he asked at last. For one reason or the other, he didn't want to explain this more than he had to, but neither would he wind around the actual question in his mind.

His friend glanced at the dark head among golden-haired ones. He did not speak right away, and when he did, his words came slowly.

"I don't know. I agree she doesn't seem like a threat... not from a strategical point of view, at least. And we both know she wouldn't have survived much longer on the plains hadn't we found her", Éothain said thoughtfully. He glanced at the Marshal again, "But perhaps she doesn't need your aid anymore. It might be better for her to be among her own people."

"And her uncle, the one she was fleeing from?" Éomer asked quietly. Why was a simple peasant girl causing him so much headache?

"My honest opinion? If he's a smart man, he should have got the point by now. A woman who is ready to brave such dangers just to stay free is not one you can bend to your will", Éothain answered, and Éomer nodded. As always, his captain made a lot of sense. And yet... something about the matter still troubled him. That something probably had to do with the dream at the night of the storm.

As was his wont Éothain apparently noticed. The older man turned to look at him properly, laying a hand briefly on his shoulder.

"I know you feel responsible after the promise you made, but I don't think you need to worry about her. That lass there is meant to survive... she may not be a Shieldmaiden, but she's a fighter."

* * *

 _My dear, dear Father. It has been many weeks since I last saw you... do you miss me as much as I miss you?_

There were often times when Lothíriel wished she could talk with her father. She longed for his counsel, his wisdom, his comfort. What would she have given, to have even half a word from him! But he was far, perhaps back in Dol Amroth, and she was sitting by the window of the small chamber she shared with three Rohirric girls. Looking at the stars, she thought of how many times she had gazed upon these heavenly lights in her home... so blissfully unaware of what the future would bring.

 _I'm safe now, Father, though not in the way you meant. In this land I'm not a princess, not even a merchant's sister. I'm just a servant... and perhaps by the grace of Nienna, or with the help of Irmo Lord of Visions, my disguise holds still._

She sometimes wondered why no one had seen through her, except for Théodred. Even the Crown Prince did not seem to guess all that she kept as secret. But the best she could figure, it was because of the blood of Númenor in the north that she claimed. It seemed to her that among Rohirrim, the northern people of wanderers were seen as somewhat mysterious, slightly out of this age and time: they had dealings with the Elves, their lives spanned longer, and hey had grace beyond the other Mortal Men.

"There was once a man like you among our people, girl", Heagyth had told her one time; she had been asking about the days of old, and somehow the conversation took an unexpected path. The Rohir woman went on, "I never met him, but I know people who knew him. Tall he was, and with eyes as bright as yours, girl. And though he rode as one of the King's Company, he was as noble as any lord of the Mark. The blood of Westernesse fades slowly, they say. And as I look upon you, I surely believe it."

After that conversation, Lothíriel understood why her manners had not revealed her identity, and she was glad she had claimed kinship with the Dúnedain of the North. As a matter of fact, she regretted ever mentioning the Dunlendings – she should have simply said she was from the north. But then, at the time Lord Éomer and his men had found her in the wild, she had not exactly been in her right mind.

 _It's not always easy to pretend, Father, and I need to watch my every word and move, lest I give some hint of my identity. So I try not to talk too much, and they accept it. They seem to believe something bad happened to me in the wild... and in a way it's true. Though I survived... my knights did not. I wish they had lived – they didn't deserve to die like that. And all this would be so much easier if I had at least one person I could be myself with..._

"Daerien! Would you mind closing that window? It's getting cold", Aengifu's voice pierced through her thoughts, and Lothíriel startled on her seat on the window board. She had not even noticed the cold, as she had been so lost in her thoughts.

"Of course. I'm sorry", she mumbled and got down, ready to shut the window. But before she did, she gave one more look at the starlit sky and the Moon riding high.

 _Don't worry about me, Father. I'm safe... I will make it through this._

 _I will come back._

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter ended up way too long, but my muse was particularly vocal this time, and there wasn't really anything I could cut out or move to the next chapter. Hopefully you made it to the end of the chapter!

I've been wanting to explore Éomer and Brithwen's relationship a bit more, which was partly the reason the chapter is so long. Turns out he had plenty to say about it, if only to himself. I have been somewhat elusive on the matter whether it's an arrangement of love or convenience, mostly because like any sadistic writer I just love to keep my readers in the dark. ;) Lothíriel certainly thinks it's about love, but that's because she's a bit naive in that respect. At any rate, Éomer of this story is quite reluctant of falling in love, because he fears he'd end up like his mother, and he thinks he needs to stay functional for whatever is to come. But it doesn't mean he doesn't care about Brithwen. He respects her a lot, which is why he doesn't want to hurt her. However, it seems Brithwen is a bit more observant to the influence of Lothíriel.

I'm not sure Théodred guesses who Lothíriel is, but he certainly suspects something fishy is going on. As for his cousin, Éomer remains more or less blinded by the dream he had of her.

As for the man Heagyth mentions at the end of the chapter, that would of course be a reference to Aragorn. During his years as a Ranger, Aragorn served in the King's Company in Rohan, under the name of Thorongil. This was at the time of Théoden's childhood.

Thanks for reading and reviewing! Also thank you for following and favouriting my story! :)

* * *

 **vilaspa -** Thank you! :) I strive to be original, so it's good to hear people think I've managed to do something new.

 **Rubandepluie** \- Reviews are indeed appreciated! :) And I'm glad to hear you are enjoying the story. Hopefully you liked this new chapter as well!

I don't really have a fixed schedule, but I do try to get a chapter done every few weeks.

Sadly, this chapter is somewhat thin on the Éomer/Lothíriel content, but I felt there were some things I needed to get out before I can develop their relationship more. Hopefully this will be fixed in the next chapter!

 **coffeebookchiller -** I'd say Éomer is attached in a way - he's not in love with Brithwen, but he does care about her a great deal. I'm trying to make her as multidimensional as her status as a side character allows, and at any rate just portraying her as some slut wouldn't do honour to her or Éomer either.

I'm happy to hear you enjoy the story so much - hopefully I won't disappoint!

 **Rachetg -** I don't know if she's really jealous per say - at least, she's not aware of it yet! But maybe on some level she is aware of the pull between them, and that's why she feels troubled about Brithwen.

 **Rangella -** Thank you! :)

 **Abbyland -** Oh, I know that feeling! I try to write as fast as I can, but real life has it demands, and so does _King and Lioness._

I'm trying to get to the revealing part, hopefully we'll see that scene soon!

 **Felion -** I must admit your review, especially the last part, made me smile. :) Please, don't encourage my muse! He's mad enough as it is. :D

Anyway, you raise quite a few valid points. The truth about Lothíriel's identity could put Éomer in a very difficult place, but I don't think she has realised that yet. For the moment, she believes the surest and safest way is to keep quiet, although it's quite hard for her to lie all the time. But we'll see how this all goes!

 **Rhiannon A. Christy -** Thank you for your review! It truly warmed my heart.

I guess Lothíriel in this story is mature, compared to her age (though in some things she's rather naive). I guess it has to do with how childish she was in _A Light that Endures_ (or, at least the first part of that story). I think her acting as the head of her father's household and then her exile would make sure she has had to grow up quickly.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this new chapter!

 **sailor68 -** Thank you! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The Midsummer's Eve was a warm, moonlit night. Since times immemorial, it had also been a day of feast for the Rohirrim, to celebrate the beauty of the high summer and, if Béma had so willed it, the gifts of the foaling season. But it was also the feast for the young lovebirds, and it was hardly surprising if one counted their birth nine months after Midsummer.

When he had been younger, Éomer had enjoyed the feast as any young man of the Mark. With other riders of his éored, he had participated the carousing, consuming ridiculous amounts of ale and chasing after whatever flurry of skirts he fancied at the time. But things had since changed, and even on a night of celebration he found it difficult to lay aside his burdens. Most likely it also played a part that this year, Brithwen was not at the feast with him.

Be it as may, he tried to keep up good spirits, if only for the sake of his household, who were on a merry mood indeed. The Hall was full of their laughter and song, and clatter of plates and tankards toasted. There was music as well and stomping of dancing feet, and surely if a man could not be at ease on such a night, there had to be something profoundly wrong with him?

Perhaps it was that thought which took Éomer outside into the quiet of the night. Torches and fires were burning there, but the Moon was shining so bright it almost made the additional illumination unnecessary. Most people were inside enjoying the feast, but here and there in the evening's shadows echoed shrieks of laughter and mischievous giggling, marking the carefree joy of the young folk. The night was warm indeed, with the scents of summer in the air, and breathing it in he found a bit of solace and comfort. Though it was growing dark, the world was still beautiful, and it had many fair things in it.

With a sigh, Éomer thought of Edoras and his family there. How was Éowyn tonight? Hopefully, she at least was enjoying the celebration instead of concerning herself overmuch with their uncle. He wondered if Théodred had joined them for the feast, or if his cousin had stayed in the Hornburg instead. And Uncle... the thought of him was now bittersweet more often than not, because every time Éomer visited the capital it seemed to him his uncle had drifted a little further away. It was horrible to see the man he loved like a second father, who had once been so proud and wise, to become more and more like a mocking shadow of himself.

Brithwen also came to his mind: he had not seen her since their exchange, nor did he expect her to give in this time. The frustrating thing was, he did want to make up with her. However, it would require he do as she had demanded, and send Daerien away. It put him in a difficult place, because Éomer did not give his word lightly, not even to a woman with connection to Rohan's enemies. He could not go back on his promise just to make things easier in his own private life... and Brithwen was too angry to take this refusal as anything else than a confirmation her accusations were true.

These thoughts threatened to turn his mind outright grim where it had only been uneasy before. So he decided to go back inside, get himself some ale, and maybe seek the company of some friends. But he did not get a chance to follow that plan, for there was a sudden cry, alarming his keen warrior's ears.

Quickly Éomer strode to the shadowy side of the stables, where he had heard the yell. At first, he thought it might be some maiden in trouble with her overly drunk male friend, but he was quickly proven wrong. For even as his eyes fell on the scene, there was a sharp command, delivered like a whiplash: "Don't just stand there! Go and get some help!"

It was Daerien. There she was on her knees, cradling a crying child in her arms, while another was running wide-eyed to carry out her order... _her order._ That was precisely what it had been, and she had given it like one who has commanded others before.

None of them had seen him, for Éomer stood in the shadows, staring at the strange maiden and the child. The setting of the scene itself was not a surprise to him – for one reason or the other, among the children of his riders and servants, climbing the roof of the stables was considered a thing to boast. Every now and then they would dare each other to try and climb on the roof, which was high and sloping and difficult to reach, and more often than not it would result in broken bones and other injuries. But what did hold him silent was the woman revealed before him; she was not quiet, she was not upset, and she was not meek.

Daerien had not noticed him. She was cooing at the child and comforting him, speaking in what Éomer guessed was the Elven tongue which those of Númenor's race would use among themselves. Her voice held strength and control he had not heard in it before, and he didn't need to understand the words to recognise the change.

He was snapped out of his wondering arrest by the sound of running feet. Éomer pulled deeper back into the shadows, knowing his interference was not needed – Daerien obviously had everything under control. _Daerien, the daughter of Dúnedain and Dunlending..._

"He fell from the roof. I think his arm is broken", he heard her speak as a pair of guards came to a halt before her and the sobbing child. "Can you lift him? We need to take him to the healer. I hope they haven't already drunk themselves silly..."

Éomer remained silent as one of the two guards picked up the injured child, and they started for the healer's house. Beside the tall rider Daerien strode, confident and graceful like a queen, claiming the space around her proudly instead of trying to blend in to the background. The very air about her was different. If the guard noticed this change in the quiet little serving maid, it did not show on his face at all. Perhaps he had been to his cups and was not at his sharpest... though Éomer at least felt this unexplainable change was just too obvious.

Then they were gone and he let out a breath he had not noticed holding. An unquiet, different from what he had felt before, had descended on his mind... and now Éomer felt deep in his heart just how blind he had been.

* * *

The day after the feast things returned to normal in the Marshal's Hall, and the merry mood made way to the ordinary comings and goings of the household. While Lothíriel had enjoyed the feast of Midsummer's Eve, her joy had not been unburdened, and that had nothing to do with the young lad who had fallen from the roof of the stables and broken his arm (apparently, that was most injury he had taken, and would heal completely in time). She didn't know why, but somehow at such a joyful time her mind was closer to her family than ever – she wondered if their celebrations had been without the touch of bittersweetness, and if they thought of her. So she was not sad to return to the everyday chores; at least in the middle of them she could forget about griefs and the ache of longing for her family.

But not all of the feast had been a reminder of things that were far away. The thing she had most enjoyed about the night had been the music and dancing, though she had felt quite clumsy when compared to the ease and grace of Saethryd and Derehild. Rohirric dances were quite different from the more refined, rule-based Gondorian court dances Lothíriel was familiar with. The dances of Rohirrim seemed to allow more improvisation, they were generally more fast-paced, and there was more contact between partners. When a young rider had first laid his hand on her waist Lothíriel had not been sure if he were trying to take some liberties with her person or not, but looking around herself she had quickly seen it was just a part of the dance.

She was still thinking of the dances when she arrived at the Marshal's chambers. Athilda had tasked her with cleaning his rooms again, which worried her much less now than it had the last time. Knowing Lord Éomer appreciated cleanliness but did not make a number of it, she felt quite relaxed when entering the rooms that belonged to him. She was even humming a song to herself – a tune she had heard last night, and couldn't get out of her head. So persistently it remained that when she was sweeping the floor, it was as though she was in the middle of a dancing crowd still. Thinking nothing of it, Lothíriel took a few dancing steps across the floor, pretending the broom was her partner. But as she had no one to guide her, she moved rather as she would in a Gondorian court dance, her step light but controlled.

It was quite silly, she admitted to herself even as she waltzed across the room, sweeping the floor as she went. Surely it was some sort of a crime against all etiquettes in every land to dance like a Gondorian while humming a Rohirric song? A soft little chuckle escaped her lips... and halted as though to a stone wall when she saw she was not alone.

Marshal Éomer stood at the doorway, his face blank though his eyes burned keenly. He was staring at her, and she could only guess how long he had been watching her stupid little display. She had not seen him today and had thought he'd be gone until she was done, but obviously she had been wrong.

"I'm sorry, my lord – I didn't mean to be wasting time. The songs I heard yesterday just -" she started apologetically, but his voice, sharp and loud, interrupted her.

"Who are you, girl?" he asked her, and not for a second did he move his eyes from her.

"My lord, you know who -" she tried in a meek voice, but again he spoke before she could finish.

"I would have the truth", he said sternly and took a step towards her. In times before, he had always been kind and gentle in her presence, addressing softly to her and making no demands of this sort. But now he stood tall and unyielding and there was nothing mellow about him at all, and she knew he would not be standing aside or letting her out of his sight before she had given an answer that satisfied him. Suddenly, she realised just why he had such a reputation among his people.

And she knew she was driven into corner. Just as she had feared, a small slip had pulled back her disguise and let him see she was not who she claimed... she should have been more careful, shouldn't have underestimated him. Being so close to a man like him was not safe when one was lying. It occurred to her: what was so wrong about telling him the truth? One could say he had earned his right to hear it, for all the help he had given her. She tried to think what Father would have her do, and if he'd advise her to just confess. After all, he had meant to trust Éomund with her identity, so maybe Éomund's son could receive that knowledge instead?

Lothíriel looked up at him at last, meeting his eyes. Deep and dark they were, and at times sad. But there was kindness too, born of that very sadness – the will to spare others from suffering. She looked at him and remembered her dream. There he had stood at her door, terrible and ready for battle, and yet she had not been afraid. Perhaps that was what it had been all along... and now, as she saw him in the waking world this moment, she felt it. If she could not trust this man, then she could not trust anyone.

"Before I say anything more, I must apologise, my lord", she said at last, her voice soft and timid. "You have rightly guessed I haven't been truthful, and... I can only say I didn't lie because I wanted to deceive anybody. I didn't think I had choice, and I was so scared..."

She shivered and shook her head before continuing, "My lord, what I'm about to tell you may sound unbelievable, but I do have proof – I ask only for your patience. I am not named Daerien, and I did not come here from the west of Rohan. I am Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, daughter to Prince Imrahil, and niece of Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor. As before, I ask for your protection."

The Marshal stood silent and nothing on his features gave a hint as to what he was thinking. Lothíriel wondered if it were a bad sign, and he was only seconds away from exploding, accusing her of being a liar and a deceiver before he'd throw her out on the streets of Aldburg. She swallowed hard and decided to go on.

She opened the little purse on her belt and produced the three objects she hoped would convince him, laying them on a table nearby.

"Here is a token your father Marshal Éomund made many years ago. He gave it to my father, so that they would both always remember their friendship. This here is a letter my father wrote to yours – I suppose it's all right for you to read it now. And this here is my father's ring, which he gave to me in case I would have to reveal myself", Lothíriel explained, placing them on the table by his hand's reach one by one. She swallowed and continued, "My lord, our fathers were good friends many years ago. I do not know if Éomund ever told you about it – my father only did when he came up with the plan to hide me. Indeed. in the letter my sire asks Éomund's help to conceal his only daughter. Read his words, and then, if you have questions, I will answer them."

Lord Éomer still said nothing, but he did pick up the letter, open it, and take seat to read. Lothíriel wanted to take it for a good sign, meaning he was at least willing to entertain her story. Hopefully, Father's words and explanation about the events leading to her exile would convince him in the end, too.

So she waited anxiously for the Rohir to read the letter, which he examined for a long while. Lothíriel was trying not to fidget, as putting him off was the last thing she wanted to do. She needed him on her side, and this knowledge was like a heavy weight pushing her down to ground.

"It is quite a story your father tells here", he said at last, his voice quiet and slow, "but I don't see any reason to disbelieve you. Aye, I do think you are who you claim to be."

Hearing those words, Lothíriel's heart was somewhat lightened. She couldn't help but smile at him, though she knew full well he had not yet promised her anything. But if he trusted now she was telling the truth, then maybe she had not lost her chance. Lord Éomer gestured her to sit down opposite him as well, which she did, and he spoke again when she was seated.

"He writes of five men you were riding with from Gondor. However, I seem to recall you were alone when we found you on the plains. Would you care to explain why that is?"

At the mention of her knights, Lothíriel had to swallow. It was still painful to think of them, and often she tried not to – their fate had induced enough of nightmares. However, it was not something she could keep from Lord Éomer, and so she proceeded into an explanation on how she had lost the five good men who had been assigned to guard her and keep her hidden. Perhaps their sad tale spoke to the Marshal, who was a warrior as well, for his face was very grave as she described what had happened.

"That is unfortunate and serious indeed. I do not like that orcs are attacking travellers on the very Great West Road... it is a pity you did not tell this at the time, because there might have been a chance to reach those monsters. They would have moved slower with their plunder, and I have yet to see an orc that can outrun a Rohirric steed", the Marshal said grimly, looking away from her. She did not look at him either – she was trying to swallow the hard lump in her throat, to fight the grief burning at the back of her eyes. It was not painless to know that her knights might have known vengeance if she had just dared to trust Lord Éomer from the moment she had met him. Now it was too late, and she knew her heart would bear this knowledge heavily.

He considered her quietly for a moment before speaking again, thankfully interrupting her line of thought, "My lady, why didn't you tell me all this earlier? Why did you keep the secret so long?"

"I am sorry that I have been lying to you, my lord, but like I said, I did not think I had choice. I didn't know if I could trust you, or if you'd deliver me straight into the hands of your king, and I was... I was so afraid. I suppose I wasn't even in my right mind at the time, if you recall the circumstances", she mumbled, her cheeks flaming up with the feeling of embarrassment. This answer seemed to satisfy him and he nodded.

"And if I guess correctly, this all means you do not wish to go home", he deemed, sounding strangely sedate for a man who has just learned there is a princess hiding in his very household.

"That is correct. I have travelled such a long road, and... my lord, if you send me back home, then five good men will have died for nothing, and I will be sent to live my days as a pirate's wife", Lothíriel said and met his keen gaze, knowing there was a fervent plead in her own. "But... I must wonder, why are you so ready to believe me now? After all, I have been lying until now."

There was a strange look on his face, almost like a smile.

"My lady, You do not seem to understand how much your countenance changed only now. You bear yourself and speak like only a noble lady would... I can only wonder why I didn't realise it before. Even your voice is different from before. Perhaps your fear borrowed credence to the tale you shared with us when we first found you on the plains?" he said, and then glanced at the letter and the horse figure. "It would be quite the feat to forge a letter like this... and I know my father's handicraft when I see it. How many figures like this did he carve for me and Éowyn when we were children?"

She breathed in and out, feeling relief tug at her heartstrings, but she knew she could not give into it – not yet, at least. Indeed, Lord Éomer might have accepted her tale, but it didn't mean he owed her anything.

"Lord Marshal, I know you have already gone out of your way to help me, but I must ask for yet another favour. Please, let me stay in your hall. If you'd allow that, then I would continue to work in your service to earn my upkeep. I will work extra hours, if you want me to! Just... let me stay here", she pleaded softly, seeking his eyes with her own.

The Rohir let out a quiet little sigh and once more he leaned forwards on his seat. He considered his hands for a moment before answering, but eventually he looked up to regard her.

"My lady, the way your father writes is quite convincing. Obviously there was great friendship between him and mine sire. I know what my father would like me to do... and it is no small matter when a man like Prince Imrahil trusts one with the safety of his only daughter", he said at length, delivering the words with great care. "I do not think it will be easy, but my honour and duty bind me to help you, lady Princess. Aye, I will do it. I will protect you as long as I can."

Once more she felt the urge to jump and cry out in delight, perhaps even hug him in gratitude. But that wish was entirely inappropriate, and so Lothíriel held back her urge to fly from her chair. Instead, she gave him a bright smile.

"Lord Marshal, I am in your debt. Right now, there is little I can do to repay your help and kindness, but know this: if a time ever comes that you need my help or my father's, you will have the strength of Dol Amroth to aid you. Whatever you ask will be yours", Lothíriel said, trying to blink the tears of relief from her eyes. Though she had his word and a promise of safety, it didn't mean the days ahead were going to be easy.

Lord Éomer seemed to think so too, because he smiled wryly.

"You place great trust in me, my lady, and perhaps unwarranted", he said, and his smile became suddenly a frown. "Especially when there is the question what to say to my household. You see, they have been wondering about your presence here. Some of them even think you should go back to your own people. It may be just a few of them now, but the longer you stay, the more it's going to attract attention. And that should be the last thing you want right now, aye?"

"It is", Lothíriel said, her mind growing restless once more. Should her luck be so twisted that the moment she thought she was secure, the rug was pulled from under her feet once more?

The Marshal sighed again and stared at the floor between them, his brow furrowing as he considered the matter. But obviously it was something quite challenging, because he did not come up with any quick solution.

"I need to think about this, Lady Princess. I have to come up with some excuse to tell those who might wonder. You may return to your chores for the time being... I will send for you when I've had some time to think", he decided at last and he moved back, his expression a closely controlled mask once more.

"Of course. Thank you, my lord, from the bottom of my heart. I believe you have saved my life once more", she said as she stood up. It felt strange, how light her heart felt now – even if she knew the matter was not yet entirely resolved. As long as his folk kept asking questions, she was not truly safe. But she had trusted this man time and again, and each time her trust had been rewarded.

He rubbed his chin and looked at her, "My lady, what of your position now? You must see I cannot let a princess work in my hall. You should receive all the esteem of your rank."

"But you must, my lord. To relieve me of serving duties is the surest way of making people wonder. No one can know about me, not when there's the slightest chance my uncle might get a wind of it", she pleaded fast, and the Marshal frowned. He did not look pleased at all.

"Lady Princess -" he started, but she lifted her hand.

"Please. Let me remain the serving maid, my lord. I can take it", she said forcibly, and slowly she could see his expression melting somewhat.

"Well, if you are certain..." he said at length, though she could tell he was not happy about this. He sighed and looked away, "We will do this your way, my lady. But if any cause rises, we must reconsider the arrangement. Go now – I need to think over everything you have told me, and come up with a way to silence any question that might rise."

Lothíriel complied and curtsied at him as she got up on her feet. Then she turned to exit, her heart strangely light for change. She was already at the door when Lord Éomer spoke again.

"My lady... I hope it's not too much. The work, I mean", he said suddenly. She turned to look at him, and a slight smile crept up on her face.

"It's fine. I used to run my father's household, so it's not like I don't know what I'm doing", she told him and shook her head dismissively. "Working for my upkeep is a small price for my freedom, Lord Marshal."

Her words made him smile, and idly she noticed how nice he looked when he did... she decided she'd rather like to see that smile more often.

"Aye. I suppose it is."

* * *

Morning came at last after a restless night. Lothíriel had not slept very well, though this time it had not been because of homesickness. Instead, she had been kept awake by the conversation she had shared with the Lord Marshal yesterday: she thought of how easy it had been in the end to just tell him the truth, how he had accepted it, and then his promise to continue to shelter her. Right now there wasn't much she could do to repay his efforts but hopefully it wouldn't be too far in the future when she could show her gratitude.

So in the middle of these thoughts she was that the chatter of the girls she shared chamber with did not much occur to her. Saethryd noticed, as was her wont, and asked if everything was all right. Lothíriel smiled and shook her head, and in her broken Rohirric she said she was fine.

Saethryd looked at her funnily, which roused her curiosity.

"Did I say something strange?" Lothíriel asked in Westron, making her friend grin.

"You just told us you have an inappropriate longings towards a stable door", said the girl, and the princess covered her mouth as a blush spread on her cheeks.

"Oh, Elbereth! I'm never going to speak in Rohirric again!" she said in horror, but Aengifu was not so impressed. She hit Saethryd with her pillow.

"You goose! She said nothing of the sort. Do you want to scare the poor thing for the rest of her life?" she scolded the other girl. But Saethryd made a dramatic pose towards the heavens.

"Béma! Does no one in this house have a sense of humour?!" she announced to no one in particular.

But Derehild's attention was drawn to a different matter.

"I didn't know Dunlendings revere Elbereth", she pointed out, looking keenly at Lothíriel. For once, the princess was thankful for the blush that already covered her face.

"My mother did", she merely said – the girls knew she was supposed to have Dúnedain blood through her maternal line, and as far as she understood, they thought she had been raised more after the traditions of the northern people than the ways of Dunlendings. Apparently, the answer satisfied Derehild, because she did not ask more about it.

To her silent relief, conversations took other courses, and anyway it was time for breakfast. As the girls around her chattered away, Lothíriel followed them and once more contemplated the conversation she had shared with the Marshal yesterday. She wondered if he had come up with anything during the night, and rued the fact she couldn't really offer her help. Though she had stayed for a couple of months in Rohan now, she still didn't know the culture well enough to come up with ruse that would actually work in this place and silence the questions of his people. Without her brave knights, she was exposed – unless her only ally in this strange land could find a way to keep her hidden.

Upon entering the hall, she quickly sought for Lord Éomer with her eyes, but he was not there yet; she bit her lip and wondered if this were a bad sign. For one mad moment she imagined any second now his men would rush to capture her, and her identity would be revealed there before the entire household... but then she reminded herself how foolish it was to even think that. The Marshal had extensively proved he was more than worthy of her trust.

Because of the knots in her stomach, Lothíriel was not able to eat much at breakfast. Often her gaze would be drawn towards the Marshal's table, hoping to see the sharp-featured face of the man who had promised to help her. However, there was no sign of him and she had to remind herself not to be fidgety. If some members of his household were already asking why she should stay here, it would not be wise to give them more reason to wonder about her, or to think she was acting strange.

Lord Éomer did not make an appearance at breakfast, and she had no time to linger and wait for him, because the day's work had to be done. So, though she did not enjoy having to wait and wonder one bit, she tried to swallow her anxiety. She had no business being restless when the man was doing what he could to help her.

As the day passed, it was difficult to keep her mind in the chores of the household; when Athilda spotted her sweeping the one spot of the hall over and over again, she was returned on the ground level with some quite harsh words. The scolding was helpful, though – Lothíriel knew she couldn't let her focus slip like this when her fate was hanging on a balance.

She did not see the Marshal at dinner either, and by that time she was starting to feel slightly panicky, while all the worst alternatives ran back and forth in her mind. As a result, most she could eat was a few forced bites that nearly had her throwing up in the very table. The noise around her, the feeling of being alone and helpless though she was in the middle of a crowd, did not help one bit but instead fed her dread and distress. Eventually she had no choice but to get up and mutter her apologies to the other girls, whose looks revealed just how oddly they thought she was behaving.

Cold perspiration was pearling on her brow when she burst out of the hall and into the courtyard. Sun was setting and temperature had fallen somewhat from the summer day's heat, but the fresh air helped a bit. It cleared her swimming head and it occurred to Lothíriel she had just had some sort of a panic attack. That had never happened to her before, but she reasoned it had to be because of all the stress and loneliness she had been feeling as of late; the possibility she would have to go home and face her uncle had just been the last straw to tip her from balance.

Lothíriel rubbed her arms and breathed deeply, relishing the calm as it flowed back into her. All was not yet lost, and perhaps her reaction had been out of proportion. On the other hand, maybe she had been alone for too long. Well, not alone in the sense there were no people around her, but alone in her own truth and pretension, in the knowledge of who she really was. And it was surprisingly hard to hold on to it when she was so far from home and those she loved.

"Daerien", came a soft, familiar voice from nearby. She turned sharply around to see the Marshal and at first she wondered why he had used her false name when he knew the real one behind it. However, she quickly judged he was wise to do so when there might be curious ears nearby.

"My lord", she answered and curtsied. Suddenly, she felt like something unclenched in her chest and relief coursed through where knots had been growing tighter and tighter all day. She understood it could only be because now a moment had arrived when she did not have to pretend anything.

"I'm sorry I did not have chance to speak with you earlier. I had to ride out early this morning and could not leave any word to you", he said softly; she noticed he was in full armour and guessed he had returned from his errands only a little while ago.

"I admit I have been a nervous wreck for the most of the day, but your duties take precedence", Lothíriel said and was able to smile. Somehow, smiling was always easier in his presence.

Such expression seemed to tug at the corners of his mouth as well, but then he shook his head slightly. He spoke in a quiet voice, "My lady, I would like to talk with you. May I ask you to go ahead and make yourself comfortable in my study? I will join you as soon as I've changed into something less warlike."

"Of course. Take your time, my lord", Lothíriel answered and curtsied again. Somehow her mood was already eased, though she had no idea of why and how that was.

Seeing most of the household were still eating supper, she could slip inside and make her way to the Marshal's study without anyone's notice. Some nights the noise and laughter in the hall would invite her – now she was thankful for the promise of quiet in his private rooms. But though she felt calmer than before, she was also anxious to what the Marshal had to say. Perhaps he had found a way to keep her here, and to silence all questions her presence might cause? If so, she would be in his debt even more than she already was.

It was dark in his study, which was perhaps half the size of her father's own back in Dol Amroth. There was a wooden desk in the centre of it – a beautiful piece carved of wood, like the shelf at the corner. She was surprised to notice several books and scrolls in the shelf, knowing they were quite the property in this land where people sang songs rather than wrote books. In some other situation she'd have curiously examined them, but now she was much too anxious for the arrival of the Rohir. There were chairs on the both sides of the desk, and the wall behind it was adorned with a hanging depicting a charging éored on a field of green.

She might have examined the room more in detail had she not been restless for the arrival of the lord of the house, and with trembling hands she lit some candles. Then she took the liberty of seating herself, fidgeting her hands as she waited.

In the fashion of a true soldier, Lord Éomer did not keep her waiting for long. Some five minutes had gone by when he arrived, nodding at her as a greeting. She smiled quietly and a bit nervously as an answer, and he took seat opposite her.

"My lady, I hope you haven't been feeling too overwrought today", he spoke as soon as he was seated. Not that she had expected small talk from someone so frank – and she was glad he was getting right to the point in this fairly distressing matter.

"My lord, it would be a lie to say I haven't been worried about my fate", Lothíriel said, folding her hands in her lap. She searched his face, hoping that he would not make her wait any longer than it had already been.

The Marshal let out a soft sigh and sat back in his chair. His brow furrowed and she thought he looked like there was some great burden on his shoulders. She thought to reach for his hand, to apologise for the headache she was causing him, but kept her fingers to herself.

"Lady Princess, I spent most of the last night thinking about your situation. As you know, the longer you stay the more they will wonder why, and they will keep asking me why I insist you stay. It is perhaps worse now than it would normally be, for we have had some attacks by Dunlendings at our western borders... however, I do believe I have solution as to how to redirect their curiosity – confuse them from the real question, so to speak", he said and considered her. She couldn't let herself feel relief, not at least before he had explained his thoughts, and so she waited him to continue.

"It's not a flawless plan, but one rarely gets the privilege of executing an idea that is without faults. Lies are not my trade, and this is the best I can do in their realm", he went on, leaning back his head and fixing his eyes in the ceiling. "In fact, it's probably an outrageous suggestion, and so it's now my turn to ask for your patience."

"My lord, what do you have in mind?" Lothíriel asked anxiously, sitting more or less on the edge of her seat.

"Lady Princess, the easiest and the most effective way to silence questions _and_ to conceal your identity is if you pretend to be my mistress", he said and looked at her again, his dead serious expression eliminating all possibility of jest. Seeing how her face paled, he hurried to continue, "And I do mean pretension, nothing more. If you will agree to this, then we will give my folk every reason to believe that we have this... hmm, _agreement._ Effectively, it will lend you the protection of my name and immunity while you stay here, and Rohirrim will have no reason to wonder why I'm so determined to keep you as a serving maid of my hall. Not to mention, it should help to enforce your disguise."

"How so?" Lothíriel asked. She was surprised her voice came out so strong and steady. She hadn't expected to be able to speak from her shock and stun.

Now the Marshal smiled wryly.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but it doesn't seem to me that a noble lady of Gondor would ever agree to be mistress to a barbarian", he said, his voice dripping with dark humour.

"I have been in this land for almost two months and I have yet to meet a barbarian", Lothíriel muttered before realising that was beside the point. She blushed and the Rohir tilted his head, and before either of them could entertain that thought any further, she spoke again, "But you are partly right – unmarried ladies of my status are quite pedantic about the company they keep in private."

"And that is why I make this suggestion, my lady. If you will agree to this pretension, then you should be able to stay anonymously in Aldburg until your father calls you back home, and no one will ever guess your true identity", he concluded and looked at her curiously, waiting for her answer.

Lothíriel sat silent and thought about what he had suggested. It was about the last thing she'd have imagined, but the longer she considered the matter, the more she realised it was a very Rohirric thing to say. By now, she had witnessed these people and their earthy view on relations between men and women... how many dirty jokes she had heard from the serving girls she lived with? And hadn't Saethryd called her a prude? She knew she could trust the Marshal, and if he thought this was the way to keep her safe, then she could not disagree.

Glancing at Lord Éomer, she knew he meant what he said: this was nothing more than pretension. She didn't need to fear he'd try to make it real... and more importantly, it could only be a sacrifice for him.

Realising that, she looked at him straight, "My lord... what about your real mistress?"

The words came out uncertainly, because she didn't want to offend him in any way. However, if she were to agree, she had to know where she was standing – and what was Brithwen's role in this situation.

The Marshal sighed and looked briefly away. When he met her gaze again, his expression was troubled and regretful.

"I will have to leave her", he said quietly, and though the words were not loudly delivered, they still had her jolting on her seat.

"But my lord, I can't possibly -" Lothíriel started, but he lifted up his hand to interrupt her.

"Your life and safety are at stake here, my lady, and I cannot think of any other way to make it secure. But if you do have a better idea, please do share it", he pointed out in a colourless voice, effectively silencing her. As much as she'd have liked to say something – _anything –_ her mind remained blank. The only thing she could think of was her wonder at how he was ready to sacrifice so much for her sake.

For a moment she sat quiet, until she regained her voice. It came out faintly, though, "You are right, my lord – I do not have a better idea. I'm just sorry to have come between yourself and her."

He sighed and shook his head, and the frown on his face deepened.

"It was over between us, anyway. She wanted things I could not give..." he muttered, sounding a bit like that second sentence slipped out without his intention. He seemed to realise that, as the line of his jaw set tighter, "Brithwen told me to send you away only a few days ago. We both know that is not possible – the only way I can guarantee your safety is if you stay here in Aldburg."

"But it's not right that you must end it this way. I feel like I'm only causing you trouble and headache, my lord", Lothíriel said and lowered her eyes in shame. What had this good man done so that she must be such a nuisance to him? And yet, try as she might, she couldn't come up with any way to make it better, except with promises perhaps some time in future she might be of assistance to him. Swallowing hard, she looked up again, "One must wonder where your patience even comes from. Why do you make all these efforts for my sake?"

Lord Éomer did not answer right away. He looked at her quietly, and in his expression there was something strange, something she could not understand. His lips parted slightly, and for the briefest second she thought he was going to say something, but words never came out. Whatever was the reason for that peculiar look on his features, he chose not to reveal it.

"My lady, my duty is to aid those in need, be they peasants or princesses. How could I deny you my help when it's in my power to deliver you from your uncle's loathsome plans? Who knows what might happen both to my realm and yours if you perished here in the Mark?" he asked eventually, and though she did not doubt his sincerity, she felt like these were not the words he had been thinking of first. A shadow crossed his features and he continued in a softer voice, "I have seen much sadness, princess – too much. And knowing all the evil things that I do, I would not be able to live with myself if I failed your trust. Not to mention, you must know we Rohirrim take matters of honour very seriously. It's up to me to keep the promise my father made."

"Thank you, my lord. I do not know what else to say... I will try to reward your aid in any way I can. The promise I gave you yesterday will keep: if there is ever anything I can do for you, then you only need to ask", she said and smiled at him, smiled even at the face of this frankly absurd situation. But if it were the way she could keep her freedom... she could imagine worse outcomes.

The expression on the Marshal's face softened and he smiled too, or so she interpreted the slight lifting of the corners of his mouth. But then a rather important question occurred to her and she sought the words that would not be absolutely inappropriate.

"My lord... what happens now? What is expected of me as your... ah, mistress?" she asked him. Though she knew it was nothing more than pretension, she still blushed. The Marshal sat back and looked at her in a way she could only call kind – he probably knew this was not easy for her to swallow, even if it were for her own protection.

"You are not from the Mark, so I do not suppose people will expect the same as they'd expect from one of our own... mostly, you should be able to continue your life as you have until now. However, I need to ask for your permission to touch you in public – though not beyond an occasional embrace, or a hand on your hand or your shoulders. And, if we wish to convince anyone, you'd have to spend the night in my chambers every now and then", he said slowly, watching her face very closely. Lothíriel guessed he was worried for her reaction, and that she'd be offended by his words. But though her cheeks continued to burn, she was not overly scandalised. Actually the promise of occasional acts of affection, even if it were in the name of pretension, was surprisingly inviting. She guessed it had to do with the fact she had never before gone in her life this long without a hug or a kiss from one of her family members, and she had started to miss closeness.

"That doesn't sound so bad", she said after considering Lord Éomer's words for a moment. He actually looked surprised, at which she had to smile. She asked, "What? Did you think I would run away screaming, my lord?"

"Perhaps nothing so rash", he said, smiling as well, "but at the very least I did expect you to tell me I'm a shameless swine."

Though she sensed the words were meant humorously, Lothíriel wasn't smiling anymore. She could only imagine how sober her expression had become. His became too, when he saw the effect of his statement.

"How could I possibly think so, after all that you have done for me?" she asked softly. The question made him look serious, though she noted his eyes were very soft. It was strange, how much his very eyes impacted how he looked; she had seen how sharp his glance might be, and in that sharpness his appearance would be threatening. But now... now there was a man with a warm disposition before her. And that realisation filled her with such overwhelming relief that she wanted to laugh and sing. The risky gamble she and her father had made had been worth it.

"My lord, is there anything else I should expect?" she asked, pushing back her easement for the time being – she would have to consider all this later on.

"Except for some crude comments and overly personal questions from my household, that should be all. Just follow my lead, my lady, and it will be fine", he said and one corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile. But she could not hold back her cringe when she imagined the reactions of her servant friends. Saethryd especially would be having a ball once she would hear of her liaison with the Lord of Aldburg. The Marshal saw her expression and asked, "Is something wrong?"

"It's fine. I was just thinking about my friends. They're going to love this", she said and shook her head. He let out a low, dry chuckle.

"Aye, I imagine it should entertain them greatly", he agreed. "But don't worry about it. Their interest is not because of ill intentions, and in fact it is good: it will distract them from the real questions."

The Marshal then stood up, stretching wearily. If it had been a long day for her, so it had been for him. And she knew without saying he was the one who got the short end of this agreement.

"My lady, it is getting late. You should head for bed", he told her, stopping by his desk; in this light, the shadows fell deep on his face. Lothíriel got up on her feet as well.

"Of course, my lord", she answered and hesitated. How to tell him how very grateful she was? Nothing she could think of seemed adequate, but perhaps she could come up with something to at least show how much she appreciated his efforts. And so, for the time being she just smiled.

"Good night, my lord."

"Good night, my lady."

* * *

Once the Princess had gone, silence fell once more in the Marshal's study. Éomer too would have liked to seek the comfort of his bed, but the day was everything but over for him. There was still one unpleasant task he would have to take care of, and he wasn't going to face it without some Rohirric liquor.

He returned to his seat by the desk and sought one drawer for the flask he knew was buried there, stored for occasion such as this. He remembered when he had first claimed this chamber as his own, and found a half-empty flask in this very drawer – he had realised the person who had left it there could only be his own father. At the time, Éomer had been surprised to learn such thing of his sire, as he could not remember the man being much of a drinker. But when he grew to know the duties and burdens of a Marshal, he also understood the reason Éomund had stored liquor in his study. It was a lot to carry, especially in these times... especially when he had to carry it alone.

He thought of Princess Lothíriel's story once again, wondering at the twist of fate that had brought her here. He found it easy to believe her tale: when she had declared herself, all the pieces of the puzzle had clicked in together, and everything about her that didn't seem to add up suddenly made perfect sense. Why hadn't he realised this before? He could only guess the dream at the night of the storm had blinded him and prevented him from asking the right questions. Her reveal explained the change in her conduct on the night of the feast, how she had assumed command like a second nature... and then he had seen her taking dance steps in his chambers, and he had known that was no Rohirric dance she was emulating. The grace and control of her movement on those moments, the letter she had provided, and the sincerity of her words when she had revealed herself... though she had been able to fool him before when claiming to be from the western lands, this time her very voice and manner had been entirely different. Even the lilting of her speech was accounted for – it was not merely the effect of the Elven tongue, but the consequence of growing up in a fine southern court. When he and his riders had found her on the plains, he had taken her hesitation and reticence as a sign of very recent and intense distress; when her grace had emerged, he had believed it simply a trait of the Dúnedain. But hearing her explanation, and reading the words her father had written, Éomer knew he was at last face to face with the truth about this strange maiden.

And as soon as he accepted her story, he also knew he had no choice. Simple truth was, he couldn't see any other way to keep the princess safe from harm and her identity a secret. As an unmarried maiden, she did not have the protection of any Eorling lord, and she had no connections in the Mark to offer her shelter. Edoras was the last place for her, what with Wormtongue lurking around: the hateful man Éomer's uncle called his adviser would love to use Imrahil's daughter to his own ends, or perhaps sell her to the enemies of Rohan and Gondor. If such thing came to pass, then both his own people and hers might come to face a peril far worse than anything he could imagine now. As for Théodred, in the Hornburg she was much too close to Dunland for her own good – while the Prince himself might be level-headed enough, his household and riders could still hold a grudge against her. Not to mention, folk of the Westfold knew Dunlendings much better than his own people in Aldburg, and they were more likely to see through her disguise. In the end, Éomer's own household was the surest place for Lady Lothíriel to stay for now. That she remained a nonentity was the best way to protect her _and_ keep her from the hands of those who would use her as leverage against the Mark and Gondor.

Then there was the dream he had seen on the night of the storm... her standing at his door, asking for help. What else could it mean, if not that it was up to him to keep her safe? If that were not a sign, a message sent to him from Béma, he did not know what was. Uncle would understand that, and Théodred too. He did not like to keep this from them, but he felt they'd agree with his reasoning, if it were possible to share this truth. And yet, though he rationally knew this was the best he could do in this situation, it was not easy.

Not only was he going to have to lie, he was also going to have to hurt a woman he liked and respected, and he knew there was no way she wouldn't hate him for it.

Éomer sighed and sipped the strong liquor before placing the flask down and rubbing his temples to ease the beginnings of a headache. Incidentally, it was Brithwen herself who had given him this idea. For what seemed like hours he had sat wondering what he should do, when her words had returned to him: _"apparently the only times you can make yourself feel something is with that blasted Dunlending girl!"_

Perhaps she was not the only one in Aldburg who had happened to think so?

It was not difficult to imagine how it would look like to Brithwen once he'd go and tell her their affair was over. She'd think he was abandoning her because he lusted after a young untouched maiden... and she'd be rightfully angry, especially in the light of what he had told her the last they had spoken. It wasn't made any easier by the knowledge that at the time of the argument, he hadn't known what he knew now. He truly had not wished to rid the Shieldmaiden of his life... and though she had given him an ultimatum, he had sensed she had wanted to work out their issues.

But a life was at stake here, and he knew he must do what he could to save it – even at the cost of heartbreak. Brithwen had seen loss and grief, and he was certain she'd agree had he been able to tell her the truth. For now, until such time came he could explain her everything, he'd have to endure at least her spite, if not of more people. However, the preservation of an innocent life, one that could be used by Rohan's enemies to achieve horrible things, was far more important than any damage his reputation might receive, or the pain he'd have to endure by lying and giving up a person he cared about. Life had never asked him before if the sacrifices he had to make were easy or fair, and why should it be now?

There was no way around it. Prince Imrahil had trusted Éomund with the life of his only daughter, and it was up to Éomer to keep the promise his sire had made – if that would not have convinced him, then her appearance in his dream surely would have. And being a brother himself, he could sympathise beyond just doing his duty. Had it been Éowyn, sent to live in some distant land among strange people...

He shook his head, rejecting the idea. The least he could do was to make sure Princess Lothíriel would be as safe as he'd want his own sister to be.

Éomer took one more sip of the liquor and then he stood up. There was no sense in postponing the inevitable, and he knew Brithwen would still be up and about at this time.

After all, there was never a good time for breaking the heart of a good woman.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** I swear, I have no idea where these mammoth chapters keep coming from.

Actually that's a lie - I do have _some_ idea. I had to make Éomer see through Lothíriel, that he'd buy her story, have him decide to keep protecting her, to explain why he'd think her pretending to be his mistress would be the only way to keep her hidden, and make sure all of this makes some kind of sense. And bam! There I was, over 9,500 words written.

To be honest, I did not realise in the start this would be such a slow-paced story. I did know I would have to take my time with it, but the extent was a surprise. At any rate, I hope it won't scare any of you away, my dear readers. For one, I must admit I'm kind of enjoying building up things slowly, and making our favourite horselord and his princess fall in love with each other without them realising it. But now that Lothíriel has revealed herself to him, and they are pretending to be lovers, maybe things will spice up a little bit. ;) I have no idea if this idea is too bold, but you know me and my muse. Boldness is my middle name.

Also I must point out Éomer is still working under the influence of his dream of Lothíriel. Only, now it's not preventing him from realising the truth about her anymore.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **Rubandepluie -** Well, if you put it that way... :D To be honest, sometimes I can't just tell what is too subtle and what is a lot. I mean, my readers sometimes seem to have such different wishes and ideas of how they want things to proceed, and being caught in the middle of that I occasionally lose perspective, if you get what I mean! And you are right - slow-paced, subtle little things can be quite enjoyable as well!

 **Anonymous -** This chapter should take care of that, I think!

 **Rangella -** Thank you! I'm glad to hear I spiced up your day. :) Hope you like this new chapter!

 **Hobbitpony1 -** Sadly for Brithwen, she did not quite realise what her ultimatum would cause. Now it looks like she's really going to lose him...

 **sailor68 -** And it is revealed! I hope you liked it. :)

 **Rhiannon A Christy -** I strongly approve of happy dances! :D I must admit reviews like yours make me want to do my own. :) I'm glad you like my writing!

Yes, Éomer has had quite a lot on his plate lately, which plays a part in his behaviour last chapter. But at least now he knows what he's dealing with, even if it means his and Brithwen's relationship is really going south.

 **Snowparrot -** Thank you! :)

 **Talia119 -** I must say I was very glad to see you make an appearance! Your reviews have been missed. Anyway, best of luck with your project!

I'm afraid right now it seems this story will continue as slow-paced, but at least Éomer knows who Lothíriel is, and maybe that will change things a little bit.

I don't think the orcs left behind any remains and if they did, probably nothing that would link them to Dol Amroth or Lothíriel. If anything should be found, people would probably think they were just random travellers from Gondor.

 **Wondereye -** And it is very entertaining to write! No wonder my wordcount is skyrocketing as we speak. :D

 **Rachetg -** Thank you!

 **Kiko-Butt -** Glad to hear you are enjoying the story! :) I too like to explore different scenarios - which is probably the reason I keep writing stories about Éomer and Lothíriel. Hope you liked the reveal in this chapter!

 **Rin -** Thank you for your kind words! I'm glad to hear my stories are so highly thought of! :)

I absolutely approve of fanart - in fact, I'd consider it an honour! Be sure to give me a link if you do make some. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Past two days had given Lothíriel so much to think about that she did not sleep very well the night after Lord Éomer had made the unexpected proposition. Her mind was racing too fast, and she guessed the skipped meals did not do much to help – she'd have to try to remedy that, because not eating was a sure way to get sick.

Though sleep was still a tempting idea on the morrow, the thought of Athilda's wrath was usually an effective motivation to get up, and so it was today as well. Not to mention, as soon as Lothíriel had washed her face and woken up more or less, she remembered the conversation last night. From this day on her position in the Marshal's Hall would be irrevocably changed; up until now, she had been but a mousy little servant maid to the most of Lord Éomer's folk, and today she'd replace a fierce Shieldmaiden.

She had to wash her face again, to make sure this all wasn't just some ludicrous dream.

The feeling of knots in her belly was familiar now, but she knew she couldn't pass yet another meal, and so at breakfast she helped herself with some porridge and bread. As usual, the other girls were keeping up the conversation – they had learned by now to understand and respect her silences. As she ate, she glanced around them and wondered what they'd say and think once they heard. She knew well what Gondorian society would think of an unmarried lady having liaisons outside the wedlock, but she had also learned already that Rohirrim regarded these matters differently. Not to mention, they considered her a commoner, not a lady of a noble house. Either way, if wind of this ever carried to her own home land, it would most likely cause a scandal. And even if she managed to avoid that, she would still have to tell her father about it – hopefully he wouldn't be too disappointed in her. However, she could not avoid the problems of her present just because of what might happen in future.

So in the middle of these musings she was that she didn't at first notice the girls had fallen silent around her. When Lothíriel looked up from her plate, she saw the servants on the other side of the table staring at something behind herself. In a moment of foreboding a shiver ran down her spine, and then there was a large, warm hand on her shoulder.

She breathed deeply and dared to look up and over her shoulder. There he stood, closer to her than was normal either in Gondorian or Rohirric standards.

"I hope you slept well?" Lord Éomer asked in a low, soft voice, moving his hand across her shoulder and the back of her neck in a motion too intimate to be misread by any who might watch. His hand came in contact with the bare skin under her neck and she nearly jumped, for before this moment no man had ever touched her in such a way.

"Y-yes, my lord", she stammered; her cheeks were already flaming crimson. It felt like the entire hall was staring at her and the Marshal, and so she kept her eyes in the only secure thing: the man next to her. She thought he looked tired and a little sad, which she guessed had to do with Brithwen. The thought stung, because she could not escape the knowledge she had ruined the relationship between him and the Shieldmaiden. And she had no idea of how to make it better.

On an impulse, she reached to place her own hand on his – to show her sympathy, to thank him, to apologise, she didn't know. Yet for a moment she could not even remember she was in the middle of many people, and quite a few of them were watching her every move. Perhaps the Marshal was similarly lost in this moment, because one corner of his mouth rose for a brief moment before it died again and the sadness of his eyes grew too much.

"I will see you later, lass", he said evenly and withdrew his hand, leaving her troubled – the guilt she felt was now tenfold. Then he moved on, leaving her in the middle of a company hungry for information. And, as soon as Lord Éomer was out of hearing range, the outburst she had expected did come.

"Oh no, you didn't!"

"Béma's almighty balls! I didn't see this coming!"

"Daerien! When and how and why?"

"Tell us everything! Is he a good lover?"

"It's none of your business!" Lothíriel exclaimed at last, somehow managing to get her voice over the many voices demanding for answers. A short silence did follow her statement, but their stares were still fixed on her, perhaps assessing her with new eyes and wondering what could a lord like the Marshal Éomer see in such a slip of a girl.

"Still, you must see why we are curious", Aengifu said eventually, and her words raised some agreeing mutters among the rest of the company. "The last I knew, Brithwen reigned absolute."

"I don't know anything about that", Lothíriel muttered and looked down in her food. Only now did she realise she was in a danger of being judged a gold-digger. On the other hand, maybe the Marshal would suffer the worst of it, changing mistresses just like that... she and her stupid problems! Why did her bad luck have to draw him into its circle as well, when he had done nothing but help her?

"Hmph. I knew it weeks ago. It was obvious from the beginning the Marshal fancies her", Derehild commented, not lifting her eyes from her meal. Her words did not surprise Lothíriel overly much, for she had already perceived that though she was more quiet than the other girls, Derehild was rather more discerning.

"And you said nothing? Derehild, what have I told you about situations like this?" Saethryd demanded in exasperation. The other girl just shrugged.

"You enjoy the surprise much more than me telling you", she said calmly. "Though personally, I'm not surprised at all."

"Well, she is quite adorable, and I maintain no one in the Mark can boast having prettier hair than our Daerien here", Aengifu put in and patted Lothíriel's shoulder. "I bet it's the hair. I've seen how some of the Marshal's riders look at her sometimes."

The majority of the female servants in the table sighed in unison. Lothíriel wished she could hide under the table and never re-emerge.

"Aye, it was only a matter of time one of those riders would try and pluck this flower", agreed one of the older servants down the table, which caused the princess nearly to choke on her bread. Aengifu helpfully beat her back until she had cleared her wind-pipe.

"I know you're a prude, Daerien, but you can relax. We may be acting like a flock of geese, but it's not because we're judging you", Saethryd commented in that blunt way of hers, though all she said was entirely well-meant.

"Derehild has been with her Wulfgar for over a year now, and Saethryd there is hoping to catch the eye of one Folcred of the Marshal's Riders", Aengifu continued and her words were accompanied by a solemn nod from Derehild.

"I'm going to nail that lad, sooner or later", Saethryd muttered under her breath and shook her fist at the ceiling in a gesture directed largely at the world. In any other situation, her choice of words might have sent Lothíriel into yet another bout of awkward coughing, but at this point she was beyond scandalised.

"So we understand perfectly, Daerien. Not to mention, Lord Éomer is quite the catch for a beginner", Derehild stated.

"Beginner? Quite a catch? Is he a man or a fish?" Lothíriel asked, her voice still faint from nearly choking moments ago. Her question made the company laugh, and Aengifu's uncontrolled laughter implied she thought the quip was particularly amusing. Still, it did console her to receive these reassurances, to hear that nothing much had changed as far as her fellow servants were considered. All she wanted was her life here to continue as it had until now; having to lie and pretend demanded enough of her already, and becoming a pariah in the eyes of these people might have been too much.

But though the people around her were smiling, a pout had emerged on Saethryd's face.

"I still think you should share all the juicy details with us", she stated, resting her chin on her hands and looking at the princess with wide, appealing eyes.

"Absolutely not! It's between me and him", Lothíriel said firmly. If this conversation was any indicative of the way she would be received from now on, she thought there was a reason to be hopeful.

The entire company around her looked like they were her deeply disappointed mother.

"You are a thief of joy."

* * *

As far as Lothíriel could tell, by midday the entire household was aware of recent developments in the love-life of the Third Marshal. The reactions of the members of the household varied from indifferent to bewildering; some had absolutely no interest in the newest gossip, while others would stop her on the corridors or in the courtyard to ask her if it were true. When she was outside to carry some water for the Marshal's bath, one elderly lady came to speak with her. It was one of those moments Lothíriel would rather have not understood any Rohirric.

"Well done, girl! You got yourself a stallion of _mearas!"_ said the old woman and gave her back a friendly slap of more force one might have expected judging by her frail looks, and the princess couldn't help but wonder if she were senile. While she knew by now that Rohirrim saw this matter differently, it was not something she could get used to very quickly.

Heagyth's reaction was in the similar vein when she stopped by the princess only ten minutes later, when they passed each other in the corridor. The Rohir woman lay a hand on her shoulder and leaned closer to speak quietly, "If you need moontea, I will gladly prepare it for you."

"Moontea? Why would I need that?" Lothíriel asked, frowning as she spoke.

Heagyth's smile widened slightly.

"Why, to keep the little ones from your womb", she said, her tone entirely mundane – except when she added, "Unless, of course, you _want_ his little ones."

With a deep blush and a realisation this newest pretension would require some things she had not even thought about, Lothíriel did ask her to make the necessary preparations. Otherwise, there might be some unwanted questions.

But if there were such positive response from some, there were others who did not hold it any major achievement. Unsurprisingly, Athilda was not impressed in the slightest. The chatelaine had never showed her any favour, but now the woman's behaviour was best described as glacial.

Bewildered by the overall response, Lothíriel sought the company of one of her servant friends: she trusted Aengifu would explain things without falling for the temptation of teasing her, like Saethryd would. Her choice of adviser appeared to be good, because Aengifu was glad to answer her questions without making her feel stupid or uncomfortable.

"People are curious, but they don't mean ill by it. You are not from around here, and perhaps you will understand when I say you're not exactly on the top of the list of women I had expected to replace Brithwen", Aengifu explained helpfully as they swept the floors of the great hall.

Lothíriel looked up wryly at her friend, "Believe me, I had a similar list as well and at least in my own mind, I was quite firmly at its bottom."

Her words made Aengifu splutter in laughter as she kept sweeping, sending a cloud of dust in the air. Specks of it glimmered in the early afternoon's air, dancing around the golden-haired girl. Her blue eyes glimmered good-naturedly as she reached to pat her friend's shoulder.

"Rohirrim just love a good gossip, especially when a love affair is involved. It's a light-hearted and hopeful thing, really. Every day we might receive news of a far darker nature, and every time we send out our riders we know it could be the last we see them. You could say we seek to balance it in our everyday lives. You needn't worry, though – the common interest will last only for a time, and everyone will soon be talking about something else", Aengifu continued her explanation, and Lothíriel had to agree her friend's words made a lot of sense. Not to mention, during her time in Aldburg, she had noticed Rohirrim were more communal than her own kin in Gondor. Or, perhaps she had not noticed such trait among her own people because she had never known common folk beyond the walls of her father's palace. As for the servants of his household, they had never treated her as one of them – and so, it didn't make sense that they'd include her in their daily gossip, unless it had to do with running the household.

"And then there is our curiosity over how this will affect the comings and goings of the Hall. The Marshal is a powerful man, for he is the King's lieutenant and nephew. The woman by his side, even if she's not his wife, commands certain prestige and authority, if she so wills", Aengifu continued, stopping to lean on her broom and look at her companion.

"I don't want to command anything – and him least of all, if that's what you're implying. I just want to mind my own business", Lothíriel muttered, sweeping the floor a bit more vigorously. For one reason or the other, her friend smiled.

"Keep that attitude and you will find you have many friends in this hall", she said and returned to the task of sweeping as well. But even as Aengifu uttered those words, Lothíriel knew they were not absolute. No matter what she said, she would not win Athilda on her side, and even less likely was she to appease to Brithwen. She had no idea if the Shieldmaiden would want to set the score, and how she should respond if such a time should come. She thought if she could ask Lord Éomer about it, or if he'd rather not speak of the matter. The last thing she wanted was to inconvenience him after all the ways she had already caused him trouble.

But whatever Brithwen thought of this recent development, she did not make it known the very day she had been replaced, and at dinnertime Lothíriel made her way to the hall, slightly bewildered by the day's events. Though she had expected there would be some kind of a stir, the response she had received today still took her by surprise.

However, the day was not yet at its end, because not long after entering the hall she came face to face with the Marshal himself. Lothíriel had been following Derehild in hopes of finding a seat when she came to face the tall man, and in surprise she fell into a clumsy curtsy. Lord Éomer smiled and took her hand in his own, and she noticed how warm his skin felt, though his palm was hard and calloused. The nonsensical part of her wanted to lean into his warmth, but luckily she had such foolish thoughts quickly under control.

"My lord", Lothíriel greeted him in a a trembling voice, wanting to ask what he was thinking and knowing such questions were not possible before a crowd.

A quick little smile touched his face, revealing that gentleness she had glimpsed at times, and he held her hand a bit more tightly. He brought it to his lips for a kiss, making her shiver as his hot breath caressed her skin, and held on for many seconds longer than she thought was necessary.

"It would please me if you would join me after the dinner", he announced in voice strong enough to be noted an audience larger than just her. If anything, one had to laud the Marshal for his commitment to this pretension... especially in the land of honest men. Lothíriel wondered if there would come a time she could ask him why did he go to such lengths to protect her.

"As you wish, my lord", she said. Nothing more was expected of her at the time, and she knew she was quite safe with this man. Though fates had dealt her with some unhappy chances, they had at least been kind in choosing Lord Éomer as the one to share her secret.

A smile visited his face and he squeezed her hand, but he did so only very briefly. By the time Lothíriel had regained her breath he had already passed along; it occurred to her that this pretension would be in many ways different than just being the servant girl on the run from her family.

Be it as may, she was still in the need of a meal, and for now her appetite had been restored. So Lothíriel hurried on her way to the table, and she eagerly took her place between Aengifu and Derehild. They both looked at her like she was their greatly accomplished daughter, and the princess flashed an awkward smile.

However, if she hoped to manage the supper with minimal attention and effort, she was mistaken. Aengifu at least was smiling wide at her, and Derehild too looked like she was quite impressed. Meanwhile, Saethryd kept asking questions she wouldn't answer even if there had been something to tell. Though Lothíriel tried to hide in her meal, there was not really keeping away from the company around her, and so eventually she had to leave the table, both for her own sake and that of the Marshal. Some of the comments she heard were quite outrageous, and Saethryd's whispered _"Go get him, lass!"_ was among the mildest.

Yet as she approached the door of the Marshal's chambers, she did feel suddenly unsure. All this was quite unexpected and it was not like she had ever guessed she would have to go this far to keep her disguise. Even knowing this was for her own protection, she felt nervous knocking at the door of the Marshal and wondering what would happen next. Not to mention, there was the shadow of Brithwen looming over her, like a phantom constantly reminding her of the guilt and regret she had brought on herself.

His voice called her in and so she entered, knowing she could not linger at his door waiting. Lothíriel breathed in and stepped inside; she did not know what she expected actually, but what she saw was Lord Éomer seated by the fireplace. She stopped few feet from the door and looked at him uncertainly, which he met calmly. He had stripped off his armour and was clad in breeches and a white shirt, and he had rolled up the sleeves to reveal a pair of strong forearms, tanned and dusted with golden hair. Though he was nephew to the King and thus one of the highest-born men in the land, his most elaborate array was his armour. And yet, she thought, one was unlikely to mistake him for an ordinary rider: the air of authority about him, the command of his sharp glance, marked him as a leader of men.

"Please, take seat", he said and gestured at the chair opposite himself. Lothíriel nodded and sat down, folding her hands in her lap. He glanced at her quizzically, "Would you like some tea? Or anything else?"

"No thank you", she said and relaxed a bit – there was no reason to be nervous. The Marshal had been nothing but courteous with her, and she owed it to him to trust him.

"I hope my household did not put you through too much torment?" he asked then, sitting back in his chair.

"It was a bit bewildering, but I think I managed fairly well", she said and pushed her feet closer to the fire. After months of having to pretend and lie about herself, this chance of honesty, of being genuinely herself, felt more precious than she could have imagined. She looked at the man opposite her, "I don't think I gave any reason to doubt the story, at least... they already thought of me as a prude, which actually seems like a helpful reputation."

Lord Éomer let out a low, dry chuckle.

"For a prude, you have an astoundingly open mind, my lady. I did not believe you would comply to my plan so easily", he stated with a crooked smile.

She shrugged, "Well, you had made such effort to come up with a way to keep me safe, and my father said your people do not lie, so I thought this all must be causing you tremendous nuisance. It would be arrogant and thankless of me to reject a plan you are willing to go through with, my lord."

The look on his face was one she could not read, the glimmer of his dark eyes somehow slightly unnerving. He said nothing, and so she decided to keep talking. Lothíriel cleared her throat and spoke again, "I... I hope it wasn't too bad with Mistress Brithwen."

The glimmer of his eyes was smothered and he looked away. _Damn,_ she thought to herself, repressing an urge to kick herself. She had really picked up the worst topic imaginable, hadn't she?

"It was not a pleasant exchange", he said quietly. "But she was not exactly surprised."

"I'm sorry, my lord", Lothíriel murmured, clasping her hands together. "Do you think you might be able to reconcile with her after a while? Maybe when I've gone back home?"

"I don't know", said the Rohir at length and fixed his eyes on the fire, which created a slightly eerie dance of light and shadow on his regretful features. "It might be for the better this way. She may continue with her life now... perhaps find someone who can return her feelings the way she deserves. It was selfish of me to keep her with me this long when I could not love her."

Lothíriel sat silent and surprised. She had thought... she had been so sure that the relationship between the Marshal and the Shieldmaiden was because they loved each other. Well, in the way she perceived love between men and women, at least. But she was also astonished that he would speak so openly of such a thing. Back home, she would have been mortified to have a nobleman confess such thoughts to her. She reminded herself this was not Gondor, and that she had already witnessed the straightforward and unashamed manner of the Rohirrim.

Lord Éomer seemed to have noticed his words had impacted her in some unexpected way, and he lifted an eyebrow.

"What is it, Lady Princess?" he inquired her. She thought of just keeping silent, but the least he deserved was her honesty, especially when he spoke so frankly himself.

"Beg your pardon, my lord. I just... well, I thought you loved her", Lothíriel answered, blushing as she spoke. Here she was, talking about a Rohirric Marshal's love life! Her stay in Rohan still remained bizarre as ever.

Once more a crooked smile crept to his face.

"Love? No, not really. I do respect and like her, and she was a fine companion. But the kind of affiliation you speak of..." he said and shook his head, and his half-smile became a slight frown.

"That is... surprising", she murmured, and at the sound of her words he looked up again. Under the scrutiny of his keen eyes she felt naked, and once more colour flushed to her cheeks.

"Why so?" he asked.

"It's just... it's hard for me to imagine. Letting someone so close without..." she said, feeling suddenly quite stupid and ridiculous. This was about the last thing she ought to be conversing with a nobleman, even if he were a man of Rohan and thus did not share her Gondorian ideas of propriety. On the other hand, after sharing her secret with him and choosing to trust him, she felt they had already gone so far beyond the normal rules of what was was proper that it was silly to feel bashful.

"Without loving them", he finished her sentence.

Lothíriel smiled weakly. There maybe wasn't a reason to be bashful, but that didn't mean she wasn't being silly and naive. After all, what time did men of war have for romance and love? He probably thought it was a childish idea for pampered ladies to entertain in their leisure.

"You think me foolish, don't you, my lord? A silly little girl wasting her time on a concept like love?" she asked him, wishing she had never opened up her mouth about this.

But to her surprise, Lord Éomer did not laugh.

"No, I understand you, my lady. You are young, and you have come from a fairly different world than the one we live in. Still, the concept of love is well known to us, even embraced", he said and the look on his face could best be described as reassuring.

"For Rohirrim, physical love and romance are not always mutually inclusive", he said then, looking like he was trying hard to find the right words. "You Gondorians perhaps think of us as a young people, and maybe you are right in some ways, though our roots go as deep and far in time as yours do. Yet even if it has been brief in the count of years, our time in this fair land has seen much grief and loss, and the soil of the Riddermark has been watered by our blood beyond the count of tears."

Lord Éomer's voice had become quiet and deep, mesmerising her where she sat. In his words and voice there seemed to echo generations worth of sadness and loss, and yet there was life as well – such life that refused to let go even in the face of blackest darkness.

"One might think it would have made us reject love altogether. Instead, we have embraced it, and we welcome it in its many different forms. You see, Rohirrim regard love as the thing that makes everything worth it – that absolves the evils of this world. It allows us to feel happiness and joy even in the middle of darkest of times, it preserves our memory, and it gives us hope. In it, new life is brought into existence. So, to love is to celebrate life, and physical love is just a part of it", he spoke slowly, and she got a feeling he had to struggle to find the words in Westron. Maybe that was true – maybe this was something he knew only in his own tongue, and so had hard time translating the idea into an entirely different language... and into a different culture, too. But even if the words were not easily found, Lothíriel was even more fascinated now. This was an entirely new world to her, though it had been there right under her nose. It existed in each comment from her servant friends, and now all their brash and blunt words made sense in a wholly new way.

The Marshal lifted up his eyes and shifted slightly. He looked a bit like he had already forgotten her presence, and ended up revealing much more of his world than he had intended. His expression became abashed.

"Forgive me – I should not be prattling about these matters to a princess", he said, cringing slightly.

"No, no – it's fine. I'm glad you explained this to me. It helps me to understand a lot of things", she said hastily, waving her hand. "It's worse not comprehending the world around you."

The Lord of Aldburg looked at her in silence, his eyes slightly narrowed as though he was staring at a particularly difficult puzzle. His piercing stare had her looking away in something like embarrassment.

"Of course. I forget how strange our world must seem like to you", he said at length. "Considering that, one has to wonder at how well you have adjusted here."

"One can do a lot of things when one's freedom and future are at stake", Lothíriel said softly, not meeting his eyes.

"Aye", he agreed, his voice falling low, "That is a compelling motive."

Silence fell between them. In the fireplace, flames crackled and danced, filling the quiet room with warmth and sound. It made her surroundings look pretty nice, Lothíriel thought, what with the gentle shadows in the corners. At some point light had died outside and it was late now, and Lothíriel realised she was rather tired. But then, before she could entertain that thought further, her eyes were fixed on the blond man opposite her. He looked rather nice in firelight, too... if possible, this illumination made his long golden hair shimmer in an even richer shade than usually. The beard on his chin and cheeks looked like it could use some tidying up, and his brow was furrowed deep in thought. In this light, his eyes looked black, but somehow the shade was warm and deep. It was strange, to see him without his armour and notice that the absence of it did not make him grow much smaller. The man was taller almost by half and twice as broad as some wisps of young lords she had met in Gondor... idly she wondered if he were descended from a race of giants of some past age. He had said his people were young in the reckoning of years in Gondor, and yet in their faces and in their songs she thought she could glimpse a world of ancient days.

Her line of thought was interrupted by a big yawn, which was probably for the better. She really _was_ tired.

Lord Éomer noticed as well, for he looked at her again, and he spoke, "My lady, perhaps you should go to bed? You look exhausted."

"Of course. I was thinking of that already", she said and shifted in order to get up. But then she realised a major problem in the idea of going to sleep. She frowned, "I should have taken my pillow and a blanket with me. Do you mind if I sleep here by the fire, my lord?"

He looked surprised by her words.

"My lady, do you truly think I would make you sleep on the floor?" he asked her disbelievingly. He shook his head and gestured with his hand to the bedchamber door, "Please, use my bed. It is quite comfortable."

"Where will you sleep, then?" Lothíriel asked uncertainly, though she couldn't say she wasn't tempted by the idea of sleeping in a real bed instead of just a bedroll.

"The floor will do", he said and shrugged. Now was her turn to feel mortified.

"Absolutely not! You have already done so much for me – I will not drive you away from your own bed", she said quickly. It occurred to her that his bed was big enough for them both. In fact, a family of three might have been able to sleep there comfortably. She frowned and spoke in a softer voice, "It wouldn't be so bad if we shared the bed, my lord, would it? People already assume that we do. And it's not like there's not space for us both."

"My lady -" he started, the rejection already in his voice, but she did not allow him to finish.

"I insist. If you won't sleep in the bed, then I won't either. Not to mention, I have changed your sheets before and let me tell you, whoever does that next will know if only one person sleeps in there. That would make me quite the odd mistress, don't you think?" Lothíriel announced, lifted her chin and crossed arms on her chest, although her cheeks were burning in embarrassment for speaking so boldly. Even so, though she did not often abuse that power, she did have some experience on how to bend reluctant males to her will – living in a family that mostly consisted of men had taught her that much.

Lord Éomer looked at her helplessly, and also a bit abashedly. He seemed to be deliberating what to say, but apparently he could not come up with a good argument, as he eventually just sighed and spread his arms in a subdued gesture.

"Very well then."

It was going to be an interesting night.

* * *

It had to be one of the strangest nights of his life – and Éomer had seen some odd nights during his time. Finding himself in a same bed as a Gondorian princess was not how he had expected his day to end, even if there had been the agreement between himself and the lady about keeping up this pretension. He had fully meant to leave the bedchamber to her, to give her some privacy. However, her stubborn demand had come as such a complete surprise that he had not been able to tell her no, as he should have. And looking at the Princess, he had seen the determined glint in her grey eyes; being a brother to another strong-willed (or just stubborn) woman, he knew when it was wiser to just comply. Altogether he felt dumbfounded when giving in to her suggestion, for he had not realised this gentle-hearted princess would harbour such steely will underneath. Then again, perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised. After all, how else would she have survived losing her guards and then wandering in the wild, unless she possessed unbending determination?

And so he had found himself teetering on the edge of his bed, berating himself for allowing this to happen. While his intentions were entirely honourable, and he would not touch her even if by some bout of madness she asked for it, it still seemed terribly indecent and disrespectful. However, casting a glance at the maiden next to him, he thought she looked vaguely satisfied, if a bit shy. She had undressed and washed while he waited by the fire, until she had announced he could enter the bedchamber. Usually, Éomer would strip himself of all clothing when heading for bed, but that was out of question now – the most he took off was his boots. As he sat down on the edge of the bed to kick off the shoes, he had pried a glance of the flush on her cheeks and silently cursed himself for causing this fiasco. He should have thought of something else to protect her.

But his mind and eyes were traitorous, and he took notice of the dark silk of her hair cascading down her shoulders, the way her night shift hugged her shoulders and fell down on her body... even as he looked at her, he became keenly aware that if this were a world where things made sense and princesses remained safe in the castles of their fathers, _this_ was a vision only her husband should have the right to witness. _This_ was a moment that did not belong to him, and his eyes thieved her of dignity and privacy, adding to the already long list of humiliations she had endured.

And yet... had he ever seen anything so fair?

He shook his head and scolded himself for being too weak to say no. Éomer had to look away and bite his tongue to get his errant thoughts under control again.

To prevent himself from falling on more perilous courses of thought, he turned his back at her and settled to lay on his side. Being clothed, he did not need the warmth of the blankets except to cover his feet. He crossed his arms tightly against his chest, as though they might have a mind of their own while he slept. Though to be honest, he had no idea if he could sleep in this situation.

The Princess chose that moment to speak.

"My lord... I just wanted to say I'm sorry and thank you. Sorry for being such a nuisance to you all the time, and... and thank you for enduring it anyway", she said in a soft little voice from behind him. The plea in it had him relaxing where he lay, and he moved enough to be able to look at her. She was sitting up, with sheets and blankets covering her feet and lap, and she was looking straight at him with those shining eyes that still at times made him question whether she was a mortal maiden at all. That moment she looked so like in that first vision of her on the night of the storm, and Éomer shuddered under his very skin.

"You don't have to keep apologising or saying thank you", he said and looked away – deep in his chest, there was a strange fear of what might happen if he looked at her too long... and what spell might be put on him, if he let his gaze linger on those clear grey eyes.

"Of course", the Princess murmured. "It's just... I wish I could do something to repay you. Something to make it better."

There was such grief and loneliness and helplessness in her voice that it felt like something heavy had been laid on his chest, so that breathing became almost like a struggle. He could imagine it – exiled far away from home and having to live on the good will and mercy of others could not be easy for a daughter of such a proud line. What words could he offer in comfort?

Éomer suppressed a sigh and stared at the wall. When he spoke, it was in a low voice, "Just try to get some sleep."

Lady Lothíriel made a soft sound that was probably in affirmative, and then she muttered _"good night"_ in such a sad little voice that he nearly turned around and pulled her into a hug. But he stifled that urge and merely returned the wish for good night.

In the quiet of his thoughts, he felt the morning could not arrive fast enough.

* * *

He came around once during the night.

Éomer had fallen asleep against his expectations, and thankfully he had dreamt of nothing, until at last laying too long in the same position had him waking up. His right side and especially his arm were numb for supporting his weight for a lengthy period. Sleepily he rolled around to his left side, until suddenly he became aware of something his hazy mind did not comprehend at first: he had company in his bed.

At first, he could not recall the events leading to this state of matters, and he was confused. Had he got drunk and somehow ended up in some woman's bed? At least it was not Brithwen, considering her hair did not glimmer in moonlight like her blonde mane did – instead, the dark head was like a veil of shadows, and silver light gave it an ethereal sheen.

Then, before Éomer had time to fully wake up and remember, she sighed and turned to face him, still asleep. The face, though somewhat veiled by long dark tresses, was not just any woman's, and the sight of it brought him to full awareness. There she lay sleeping, breathing slow and even, her long hair partly hiding her face...

Carefully, hoping not to wake her, he lifted his hand and brushed hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. He did it slowly though, telling himself it was because of not wanting to disturb her peaceful rest. Her hair was just as soft as he had imagined, brushing against his fingers like a dream... he felt a sudden and wholly irrational wish to let his hand linger there, but he smothered that thought and pulled back his fingers. It would not do to wake her.

With a quiet sigh, Éomer settled down more comfortably again. His eyes half open, he regarded the face of the woman next to him, pale as the moon and framed in gentle shadows. Somehow, it was reassuring to watch someone sleep so calmly.

Perhaps, if she could sleep so peacefully next to him, this was not such a bad idea after all.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** And here is a new chapter! Originally, I thought this would be done some time next week, but then stuff with wine happened and here we are. At least this is not as massive as couple past chapters!

So, the people of Éomer's household now know the recent developments of his love-life. For the reasons explained in this chapter, they're mostly good-naturedly interested - they rather enjoy the gossip, but also the surprise. So far, Éomer's idea of distracting his folk from the real questions seems to be working!

Meanwhile, maybe our favourite horselord and the princess are starting to learn a bit more about each other...

As always, thank you for reading and reviewing. I do appreciate it very much!

* * *

 **Crime of Passion'06 -** I'm glad to hear that! I do my best to entertain. :) As for where my ideas come from... well, I guess only my muse knows that!

Hope this new chapter manages to please!

 **Katia0203 -** Thank you for your praise! :)

 **Hobbitpony1 -** That's relieving to hear. I was worried people might wish the story to move faster, but for the time being it looks like it's going to be a slow-paced one. I don't think there's any other way to adequately explore the possibilities this particular angle offers.

We'll see whether Brithwen will be trouble or not!

 **Rubandepluie -** I actually meant to do it earlier, but things kept happening. Anyway, here we are now, and I must admit I was looking forward to writing about them when he knows her secret! I'm glad to have surprised you. :D

 **Psychoboy12 -** To me it seems like the servants of Éomer's household would be pretty laid-back about it. It's not an uncommon thing in their culture, and as far as they know, she's just some commoner. Indeed, if there's trouble, it's going to be in Gondor - but whether or not this story will reach her home, that remains to be seen!

 **solar1 -** Thank you! :) I hope you enjoyed this update. For now, we have some smooth sailing, but we'll see how that goes in following chapters.

 **Adelie P -** Thanks a lot! For now, I'm just starting to stretch my limbs, so we'll see where this will go with that romantic potential. ;)

The situation does bring her attention, but she and Éomer are hoping it's the kind of attention that will distract people from the real questions. He thinks his folk would never expect a Gondorian lady to agree to something like this, so if anyone should entertain the idea she might be from Gondor, they will at least dismiss any thought of her being nobility.

 **Thalia -** Good to have you back! And sounds like you had an epic experience. :) I will try to check that out once it airs!

 **Madam X -** Thank you! :)

 **sailor68** \- Yeah, he did not have much of a ball with her! But like he says to Lothíriel, Brithwen probably wasn't very surprised.

Hope you enjoyed the little remarks by the servants! :) They are indeed enjoying this latest gossip. And indeed, Éomer and Lothíriel have no idea yet what they are in for!

 **coffeebookchiller -** Thank you! I am glad to hear you think so. I must confess, I also love those kind of stories, so I absolutely had to do it this time!

I'm afraid it's too early to say anything about how the ending will turn out, and what will be Brithwen's share in that. But stay tuned!

 **Rachetg -** Glad to hear that! I will do my best to bring in the fun. :)

 **Talia119 -** Thank you! I can't say how happy I am to have you reviewing again. :)

I'm not sure it occurred to Éomer to consider marrying her, and if it did, he'd have discarded the idea very quickly. For one, it would have required too much commitment, as you noted - it would have been a too permanent solution. As of now, his folk consider Lothíriel a commoner, so from their point of view he would be marrying way, way below his station. Maybe they wouldn't even accept her as the lady of the house. Obviously, telling them who she is can't happen, because it would only be a matter of time her uncle heard about it. Or worse - Wormtongue would try to use her. And Éomer wouldn't want to insult her family by marrying her without the blessing and knowledge of her kin and father. Not to mention, such a deed might cause some serious friction between Rohan and Gondor. For the time being, Éomer is fairly sure he can smuggle her quietly back to Gondor once her father calls her back, and at that time he will consider he has fully delivered his father's promise to Imrahil. Whatever Lothíriel decides to tell her own people is none of his business.

Brithwen probably did have hopes for her and Éomer's relationship resulting in something more permanent, maybe we'll learn more about that later on!

 **Rangella -** Exciting is what I was aiming for! I think they are already getting in deeper with each other. :)

 **Xemi -** Thank you! I hope you keep enjoying the story! :)

 **Coecoe11 -** Thanks! :)

 **lena1987 -** Happy to hear it was cleared out! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

After such a night and the intimacy of sharing a bed, Lothíriel would have expected to feel much more awkward upon waking than she actually did. But to her surprise, as she woke up and her mind cleared, there was not the faintest sense of embarrassment, or of wanting to sink through the floor and never reappear _._ Most she felt was pleasure for a well-slept night, and she had to wonder when she had last rested so peacefully, without a care on her mind. It had to be months... perhaps some time before her uncle's fateful announcement, even. She had not thought falling asleep would be very easy with the Rohir nearby, and his scent filling her nose so vividly, but in the end she had gone out cold in minutes after placing her head on the pillow.

When she came out of her dreams, calm and rested, Lord Marshal was already up. He was washing by the basin, stripped to the waist, his tanned skin almost glowing in bright morning's light. Having seen all the heavy armour he wore when he rode out, she had wondered how he was even able to carry all that leather and metal on him without toppling over, but now witnessing the wide shoulders and powerful arms she had no such questions anymore. Here and there a scar might shoot across the skin, lighter than its surroundings – to bear witness to the dangers of his trade. But with the way he held himself, sure and easy in something like wild grace, seemed to voicelessly whisper that whoever had given him the scar had not lived to _have_ one.

Realising she was ogling, Lothíriel quickly looked away and felt a blush claim her face. She might not have felt awkward upon waking, but now she surely did. Still, she hoped he wouldn't notice, and so she tried to think of everything else but him.

"Good morning, my lady. I hope you slept well?" his voice spoke from the other side of the chamber, and she risked a glance at Lord Éomer. She was glad he had pulled on a shirt at last.

"Good morning. I can't remember the last time I had such a restful sleep", she said and stretched herself, enjoying this rare feeling of having experienced no nightmares or other disturbances during the night. He nodded and she thought a faint smile visited his face, illuminating the features that were otherwise so grave.

"Then you must sleep here often", he said, tying his long hair at the back of his head by a string. Though it looked like he had combed it at least, the way he wore his hair was quite different from the noble lords of Gondor; shoulder-length was the absolute maximum, and any longer than that would cause scandal. Not to mention, lords were supposed to pay some attention to grooming themselves and declare their status with their attire. As for the Lord Marshal, she wasn't sure if he owned other clothing than his worn coats, simple linen shirts and plain trousers.

"My lady, I admit I regret not being able to offer you the welcome a lady of your standing should receive", he spoke suddenly, putting an end to her wandering line of thought.

She hurried to wave her hand to dismiss his worry, "It's all right, my lord. At least I have things to fill my day with, instead of just idling away and moping hour after hour."

The Marshal looked straight at her, and she thought he seemed perplexed, as though he had turned to face her and instead seen there was a giant squid sitting on his bed. Or perhaps not a squid – he was unlikely to have ever seen such sea creature – but a goat maybe, or some wild thing from the forest... Lothíriel shook her head to get rid of these absurd thoughts. Clearly she wasn't yet fully awake.

His gaze lingered on her and she knew she would blush in seconds if she did not busy herself with something, and so she got up as quickly as she could – and nearly tripped in the process. Lord Éomer had the tact to pretend he hadn't noticed, for which she was thankful.

They left the Marshal's chambers at the same time, both ready to face the day. But before Lothíriel had time to curtsy and wish him a pleasant day, the Rohir suddenly took a hold of the back of her head, and he leant down to kiss her brow. When his lips, softer than one might have expected from a man with such a grave face, touched her skin, her mind went blank. On one hand, such an affectionate gesture from someone she didn't know very well startled her, and yet on the other, she could not deny the pleasure she felt at this human contact – despite her surprise, she nearly leaned closer to that touch. Drawing in a trembling breath, she reminded herself it was just a part of their pretension, though his gestures held nothing insincere. Be it as may, she was too taken aback to answer it in any way, even to move closer, except for an awkward little grin.

"Have a pleasant day, my lord", she said, finding her hand on his. When had that happened? She didn't remember reaching for his fingers, and yet there they were, thicker than hers and more calloused. He seemed to realise this the same moment as her and for the briefest moment, he held her hand tightly. Then he let go, as though the touch had burned him.

"Likewise", he replied, and looking at him she saw his eyes searching her face, as though he saw some puzzle there and was trying to solve it. She had sometimes noticed this expression on his face, and she could only wonder what it meant.

But the day's work awaited and she had to snap out of this, remember what was what. So she curtsied and turned, tearing her eyes away from Lord Éomer's piercing gaze. Then, pushing all else out of her mind and fixing her thoughts on the inevitable knowing winks and smiles accompanied by comments so crude she could only ignore them, Lothíriel made her way to the hall.

* * *

The messenger arrived less than hour after Éomer broken his fast in the hall, surrounded by his men. He had been planning to ride out anyway, to inspect his lands and see how the harvest was turning out, but his agenda for the day was swiftly changed: orcs had been seen passing into the realm and one needn't be a genius to know what was their intention.

Hoping to avert their plans, Éomer gave orders to his riders to quickly make ready for the road. As he prepared, he discussed strategy with Éothain and the possibility of dividing the éored in order to cover more ground – they did not yet know where the orcs might be meaning to strike. Underneath his skin, anger boiled when he thought of evil things entering the Riddermark and threatening the lives of the innocent, but though there was an urge to just ride in haste to hunt orcs, Éomer tempered it with patience and control. He knew all too well the dangers of riding out in fury, of letting one's emotions reign over reason; he had no desire to share the fate of his father.

His mind was already fixed in the prospect of battle when he strode through the hall with Éothain and several other riders. But, to his surprise, in the hall his eyes fixed on something that abruptly wiped his thoughts blank as far as orcs and ridding the world of them went. For the shortest – and most disquieting – moment he considered it was probably the first time his mind could be so distracted when bent on battle.

What he wasn't surprised about, however, was the reason of his distraction, because this particular specimen seemed to have a strange power to lead his mind on peculiar paths. Lady Lothíriel was bowed over a table, wiping away what looked like someone's spilled ale; hearing voices and heavy steps of riders, she looked up and her face was lit by a sweet smile. It was that bloody smile, he thought afterwards, accompanied by the light of her grey eyes that so distracted him...

"My lord", she said and curtsied, her gesture more effortless than some wild daughter's who had spent most of their youth running free on the fields of the Mark. He wondered if she were aware of the quiet grace she emanated, which had to be at least in part because of her upbringing. He could not quite comprehend how he had even for a moment believed she could possibly be anything else than a lady of noble birth.

"You are riding out, my lord?" she spoke again, interrupting his thoughts. With a quick gesture his men fell back and he stepped closer to the woman pretending to be his mistress. He was supposed to bid her farewell, wasn't he? And he wanted to do so, not for the sake for their make belief but because the simple pleasure of it.

"Aye, there has been an orc sighting near the border. We must go and investigate this matter – and hopefully to take care of it as well", Éomer said, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword.

"Of course", she said and looked away, wiping her hands on the front of her apron. He could only imagine how fine and smooth those hands had been before; now he knew they were hardened like any servant's. That was yet another puzzling thing about her, the way she seemed to accept her lot so calmly.

He cleared his throat and then spoke, keeping his voice low as to not let anyone else hear, "And you will be all right here, my lady?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" she asked and shook her head with a slight smile. "You worry about yourself, my lord."

"I shall do that, my lady", he promised and found himself smiling as well. Then, remembering there was a certain pretension to be performed, he reached to kiss her brow again, as he had before breakfast. He expected her reaction be a mild one at best, but then all of a sudden she moved sharply closer, and she wrapped arms around his neck. She melted against him into what he at last realised was a hug, and even through layers of armour he could tell she was soft, yet there was underlying strength, the kind that might go unnoticed if one did not care to look. He noticed his hands shivered slightly as he placed them on her waist, and he told himself it was because she was a princess and he had no business touching her, not even in the name of any pretension.

Yet there she was, closer than necessary in any way. Breathing in her scent, something spicy mixing with soap, Éomer felt dazed. Every time he thought he was starting to get a hang of her, to understand the thoughts behind those shining eyes, she'd turn again and surprised him once more.

She seemed to notice something was off, and abruptly she moved back again. She was blushing, the way she often did. He found it was rather endearing.

"Forgive me, my lord", she said embarrassedly and looked away, "It's just been a long time since someone hugged me, or the other way around. I have missed it."

There was such loneliness and sadness in those words that it nearly left him breathless. Princess Lothíriel was rather good at hiding it, and so he'd at times forget... but truth remained she was all alone in a strange land, with him as her only companion in her secret. She had grown up surrounded by people who loved her, who spared no affection, so of course she'd feel bereft here... it hit him how tremendously brave she must be, to endure all this without a complaint.

"It's quite all right. You may hug me any time you want, my lady", he told her. It was the least he could do, and hugs he could spare easily if it made her feel better. A shy little smile touched her face.

"Thank you, my lord", she said softly. Then, making a shooing gesture with her hands, she stood a bit taller, "Please, go ahead. I didn't mean to keep you from your duties."

"Aye", Éomer said, remembering again he was supposed to be thinking about the patrol. The matter had entirely left his mind, for which he felt bewildered. "Be well, my lady."

She nodded and pulled back to clear his way.

"You too, my lord."

In the words uttered, he thought, there echoed those she did not speak: _Be safe._

* * *

 _Mid July 3018, Aldburg_

 _This is not my day,_ Lothíriel thought crankily as she made way up towards the Marshal's Hall, _not at all. Then again, I can't even remember anymore when last_ was _my day._

Athilda had sent her on an errand to the markets, to pick up various products from the traders of the town – it had seemed like a simple enough task in the beginning, but that was only until she got to it. The required products were all scattered around the market, and it took time to locate the necessary stalls. Then there was waiting and standing in line as the traders dealt with other customers. When she finally got to state her business, she noticed the things she was meant to pick up could not be purchased with the money Athilda had given to her, unless she was able to bargain with the merchants. Hadn't Derehild and Saethryd instructed her in the art of bargaining, she would have had no other choice than to go back to the Hall and ask Athilda for more coin – something she knew the chatelaine would not take well. Most likely the ill-tempered woman would accuse her of trying to sneak some pennies into her own purse.

By the time she got all the products in her basket, it was weighing so much that she knew the walk back to the Hall would not be pleasant. Then, as though the very weather was just looking to join the fun of mocking her, it started to rain; knowing Athilda would not spare words if she let the purchases get wet, Lothíriel had been left with no other choice than to take off her cloak and use it as a cover for the basket. It was thick Rohirric wool, made to keep away the rain and wind, and she would have been glad to use its shelter herself, but there was no choice about the matter. Previously possessed by the Marshal himself, who was almost a head taller than herself, she had needed to shorten it for her own use. But for the time being, she was left without its protection, and so when she reached the courtyard of the Hall, she was already soaked to the bone.

To reinforce her understanding that the sudden downpour was merely the world plotting against her, the rain stopped by the time she got to the courtyard. There, seeing some gloriously, blessedly dry people, she felt like drowned rat.

Her arms were starting to ache from dragging a heavy basket all the way from the markets, and she had to momentarily put it down, to rub some life back into her limbs. While the chores of the household had built up her strength from what it had been in the beginning, the fact remained she had never been required to carry heavy burdens before her time in Rohan. She wished someone might have borrowed a hand – maybe one of those wide-shouldered riders left to guard the town – but then considered if they refrained from such offers because of the Marshal, because they thought of her as his woman. Though he was many leagues away, riding patrols in the borderlands as he had for the past two weeks, the idea of being considered _his_ and all that entailed still made her blush.

Lothíriel reminded herself what was the truth behind the pretension. She ought not to be thinking of such things, especially when there was work to do. So she bowed down to pick up the basket again, so that she might deliver it inside and get changed into something dry.

However, as she straightened with the basket in her hands, she saw there was someone standing before her, blocking her way. Lothíriel opened her mouth to excuse herself, but then her eyes reached to see the face of the human wall who had come to prevent her passage.

Brithwen was only inches taller than herself, but somehow she seemed to grow even bigger by the impact of her bitter hatred. Her auburn hair was a wild mass about her freckled face, and in her bright blue eyes burned a fire that was both hot and cold at the same time. She was an impressive sight indeed, and compared to this fierce woman, Lothíriel felt like a mouse.

"Can I help you?" she asked cautiously and wondered what this meant. When after she and Lord Éomer had agreed about pretending she was his mistress, the princess had expected there would be some sort of a confrontation between herself and the Shieldmaiden. But it had never taken place... until now, at least. She just hoped the woman could be reasoned with, because she had no wish to fight.

"You have gall to be asking that, _cifes",_ Brithwen spoke, her voice hard and loud, and the last word she more or less just spat out. It was not a word Lothíriel had heard before, but she got the feeling it was not a nice way to call anybody.

"Well, I'm sorry?" Lothíriel said uncertainly, suddenly feeling whatever she would say would be used against her in some elaborate fashion.

"Not sorry enough, _cifes",_ the Shieldmaiden snapped, her eyes flaring in anger; it occurred to Lothíriel their exchange was starting to attract an audience. Brithwen glared at her, "You certainly weren't sorry when you came here, prancing about as though you owned the place..."

She went on talking, while the princess was left considering how that was the exact opposite what she had been trying to do, minding her own business and attempting to keep from people's ways. But obviously Brithwen had her own idea of how things had gone.

 _It's just her anger and disappointment talking,_ Lothíriel reminded herself.

"... what kind of magic did it take, to get him to pay attention to you? Some Elven witchcraft, maybe?" the auburn-haired woman kept talking, though the princess had no idea of how she had got to the topic of witchcraft. She also thought to point out that the whole nonsense about magic was entirely at odds with the previous accusation of her prancing about the town, but wasn't sure such observation would be welcomed.

"I know no magic and even if I did, I'd never use it against someone who has been so good to me", Lothíriel said, but as soon as the words were out, she saw they were not wisely chosen. Something about her statement had Brithwen's eyes lighting up in an even darker fury.

"You are our enemy! You're an outsider and a disgrace, a stain upon a noble and great line, and you need to be washed away! _Hóre!"_ she hissed, causing an audible gasp in the crowd watching this scene unfold, and Lothíriel knew Brithwen had gone from _not nice_ to downright _insulting._ Her cheeks burned with humiliation and she wished the earth might just have opened under her feet and swallowed her whole. But she knew she had to stand her ground now, because remaining silent would just have meant Brithwen was right, no matter how bizarre her claims may be.

Lothíriel put down her basket again and rose to her full height – though it had been months since she had last appeared in the courts of her father, she had not forgotten how to appear taller than she actually was. She pushed back her shoulders and lifted her chin, her neck long, assuming the expression and the stance any noble lady might when face to face with someone insulting her. She may be soaked as a wet dog and her hands may be on blisters, but truth could not be changed: she was the daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, descended from Imrazôr and Mithrellas, and she would not be bullied or humiliated if she could say something about it.

"I am of the blood of the West, and me and mine are not your enemies. You know nothing of me and the things I have endured – if you did, you would be ashamed of yourself I will not surrender to be bullied and abused in such a lowly manner!" Lothíriel announced, clear and strong, and before her Brithwen seemed to grow smaller and lesser. The courtyard had grown quiet, but many eyes were on them; she did not mind, because keeping her calm while being observed by such a wide audience was something she had mastered long ago.

In a softer voice, the Princess of Dol Amroth continued, "Lord Éomer's choices are his own. I am in his service either way, and in that you have no say. Do you think he would approve of you behaving in this way in the front of his own household? The least you can do is stop this farce and try to be the woman whom he once deemed worthy of being by his side."

Brithwen was shaking noticeably. Her face had paled, but her eyes were outraged, and she had bared her teeth, like a wild animal challenging another to a fight. But Lothíriel decided she was done here, and once more she picked up her basket. This scene had already taken too much of her time, and she really didn't think it was a good idea to reveal more of that side of her she had tried to keep hidden – her pride, her awareness of her heritage and ancestral line, her upbringing of a high lady...

The Shieldmaiden, however, was not done. In a litany of curses, delivered in half-shrieks, she flung back her arm. Then she slammed her fist into the corner of Lothíriel's right eye, nearly knocking her down and momentarily blinding her. Luckily, though it hurt, it did not seem like the punch broke skin or damaged her eye. She was able to stay standing too, which she considered a major accomplishment.

That did it. If Brithwen was willing to play dirty, then Lothíriel was more than happy to pay back in kind. And so she squeezed her hand into a fist, thumb inside in the hopes to protect it, and threw a punch she hoped would make sure no one else in Aldburg would ever hit her again.

As Brithwen hurled backwards, even if it were more out of surprise than anything, Lothíriel knew even her brother would have been proud.

* * *

It was late when Éomer returned to Aldburg from the patrol to the eastern parts. He and his men had been riding up and down Eastemnet in the search of orcs, but they had only encountered a small band of them, and reports had spoken of a much larger number. While this time it seemed their speedy arrival to guard the innocent lives inhabiting the land had indeed succeeded in its intention, his mind had and still did remain uneasy. The increasing orc-activity in the realm worried him much, and he knew he could not be everywhere at once with his riders. And they could not keep riding endlessly: both men and horses required rest occasionally, and the riders needed to see their families.

Éomer himself could easily have kept on going, because he had no one to return to in Aldburg. Or so he thought at the time.

As he entered the Hall after sending his men on their way, most he thought of was some late supper and then maybe a quick wash before heading for bed. He expected his household would have quieted down already, and so he was surprised to see the hall was not completely empty or silent.

There, in the middle of the stone floor, was a figure on all fours, scrubbing the floor. Occasionally, she'd wet her brush in a bucket and then continue the task which was just bizarre at this time of day, and especially when she was doing it alone. But then he took notice of the dark-haired head of the person before him and realised to his horror it was none else than Princess Lothíriel.

Éomer stood a moment frozen in shock and dismay, trying to understand what madness had possessed Athilda to task the young woman with something like this, but then a certain motion captured his eye in a true fashion of male folly.

His mind went blank. Then it filled with something it should not be filled with, and he was gaping. Her round bottom, rhythmically moving as she scrubbed the floor...

He wanted to slap himself. She was a princess, far above such thoughts, and he was dishonouring her letting his mind run so rampantly. And still, rationally he knew the cause of his wandering eye: such was the effect of being on the road, surrounded mostly by other men, and knowing each day might be his last... and it _had_ been some time since he had last been with a woman...

He didn't slap himself, but he did bite the insides of his cheeks to get back his focus. Here he stood ogling at things he should not ogle at, while the daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth was scrubbing his floor!

The Rohir got himself to moving and he strode fast towards her, making a mental note of having to speak with Athilda. He would have to find out if the chatelaine was in the habit of tormenting the poor maiden when he was not keeping an eye on things.

"Daerien", he called to the princess with her false name, though the more he spent time with her, more wrong it seemed to speak _Daerien_ when addressing to her _._ It was as though the entirety of her earlier disguise had melted away, revealing the bright truth behind it – who she really was. But as long as secrecy remained the guarantee of her safety, he needed to remember the name she had first used when he had found her.

The princess startled and nearly knocked down the bucket, but she was able to keep it standing. Then she climbed up to stand, in the process making it look a bit like she had two left feet. Éomer had a feeling he'd never understand how someone with her grace and upbringing could sometimes be so clumsy.

This thought fell utterly from his mind when she turned towards him and he saw her face. Her cheek had swollen and she sported a black eye, the blue and purple of the bruise mangling her complexion. At once, anger flared in his mind, and he was fully prepared and willing to swing Gúthwinë at whoever had dared to lay a finger on her.

"Who did this?! Who hit you?" Éomer demanded to know as he quickly stepped before her, carefully cradling her face in his hand to inspect the damage. He was outraged and appalled, furious and mortified; it was as though the fates were purposefully doing all they possibly could to humiliate this gentle-hearted maiden who had not harmed anyone in her life. If at the end of this all Prince Imrahil would not demand to have Éomer's incompetent hide, it would be a wonder.

"I had a bit of a brawl with Brithwen, my lord", she said, and to his surprise she smiled wryly as if she found this all amusing, "and now I'm being disciplined."

"What?" was all Éomer was able to utter in his confusion and anger – even the mention of his previous mistress did not wholly banish the idea of some sword-swinging. But Lady Lothíriel just smiled and slightly shook her head.

She quickly described her confrontation with the Shieldmaiden and the exchange of blows that had followed – in her own words, Brithwen would probably have beaten her into a bloody pulp hadn't the guards of the Hall separated them. Unfortunately, Athilda had seen the affair, and her response had been quick and unforgiving. She had ordered the princess to scrub the floor of the hall as a punishment for brawling. Apparently, Lady Lothíriel couldn't even feel sorry about it, because " _you should have seen that punch, my lord."_

Éomer breathed in and out, his mood swinging from anger to bewilderment and something almost like admiration. Would a day ever come this maiden would not find a new way to surprise him?

"Looks like I'm not doing a very good job of protecting you", he managed at last in a faint, regretful voice.

"It's fine, my lord. No matter what happened, the truth remains: my secret is safe and I am free. I'm willing to scrub a few floors to keep it that way", she said and gave him a wry little smile. The expression looked strange on her battered face, and yet he could not help but answer the smile briefly.

But then he considered the reason she now sported these bruises and his smile died. He had been hoping that Brithwen, despite her anger and disappointment, would not take it out on Lady Lothíriel. When he had left her, he had tried to insist his new companion was utterly blameless in this, and that whatever resentment Brithwen felt, she should aim it at _him._

However, even at the time he had known things were rarely so simple.

He sighed, "I am sorry about Brithwen assaulting you. Try to forgive her, if you can. Her anger is not without a reason – she was let down by a person she loved and trusted. I know, it's wrong of her to take it out on you, but people do not think reasonably when they are angry and hurt."

"I understand, my lord", she said softly and looked down. To brighten it up a little bit, he moved his hand to rest on her shoulder.

"I didn't know you knew how to hit", he said, not quite capable of hiding admiration from his voice.

To his surprise, she grinned.

"My brother Amrothos taught me how to throw a punch when we were children", she answered, smiling fondly. But then suddenly her expression darkened, and he saw the reason soon enough, "He said he couldn't always be there to protect me."

She shook her head and looked away, "Father wasn't pleased to hear what Amrothos had taught me. But I'm glad he did. There are only so many ways a girl can answer when she's called a... a lady who sells her love."

Éomer felt like his head might just explode from all the mortification that _just kept coming,_ wave after wave; he had never felt the urge to just sink through the floor and disappear forever, but now he surely did. What was again that thought about this princess having to go through every humiliation world could possibly offer? Dismally he realised at least half of it was because he was a dreadful guardian, and she deserved so much better.

"I'm sorry", he managed in a muffled voice, though those words couldn't express his regret even in the slightest. On the other hand, what apology could possibly make up for the offences she had been forced to suffer here?

"My lord", she said, her voice dry again, "I have three brothers. I have heard enough of insults and dirty words for several lifetimes."

Perhaps it was strange in this situation – and it certainly was the last reaction he thought to have right now – but her words did make him smile once more. If she could face her circumstances with humour, then surely he could too.

"Aye. In that case, I imagine there are very few things you _haven't_ heard already", he agreed at length and glanced around. How long had they stood there talking? The same question appeared to have occurred to her, because she looked around as well.

"I beg your pardon, but I must return to my task. This floor is not going to scrub itself", said the princess and made a move as to crouch down to continue with her punishment. But Éomer lay a hand on her forearm, preventing her from returning to her previous occupation.

"And neither are you, my lady. Athilda was being unreasonable when telling you to do this, especially after you were the one to be assaulted in the first place", Éomer said firmly.

"But my lord -" she started, but he cut her short quickly.

"Are you in her service or mine? Don't worry about it. If she has a problem with this, she may discuss it with me", he said in that patient tone which he used when dealing with some of his younger and more foolhardy riders.

"Very well then", the princess said, her posture relaxing, "but I fully expect you to take the scolding she'll give."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm quite used to her scoldings", Éomer said lightly, which made her laugh softly. Despite all, he could feel somewhat less disappointed in himself.

He looked at her then, "My lady, would you like to spend the rest of the night with me? I should think you will be safe from Athilda's wrath in my chambers, and you might want to bathe your bruises with something cool."

 _Béma, she's pretty when she smiles._

"I would like that, my lord."

* * *

It was strange how the simplest things could unburden one's heart so much: a seat close to the glowing fire, a cool cloth to bathe one's injuries with, a friendly voice offering sympathy... Lothíriel had felt terribly mistreated and abused for the larger part of the day, but the moment Lord Éomer had stepped inside the hall and demanded to know how she had got her magnificent new bruises, she had felt better. Suddenly, everything was all right.

Now she was seated in his chambers, talking more in detail about the events leading to her scrubbing the floor of the hall, while the Marshal was undressing of his armour and scowling as he listened to her explanation. She had only ever seen the armour on him, or neatly piled on its stand, but she had never realised how many layers went into the gear he carried on him every time he rode out for patrols.

"I really am sorry about what happened today. If you wish, I can talk with Brithwen and tell her to leave you alone", Lord Éomer offered as he undid the buckles of his chestplate – a beautiful piece made of boiled red-brown leather and metal.

"You needn't do that, my lord", she quickly answered, peering at him from under the cloth covering half of her face. "I don't want to hide behind your back – or let people think I'm somehow turning you against them. They need to feel they can trust their Marshal."

He stopped with his task for a moment and regarded her silently in that way she already recognised – the slightly perplexed expression as though she had just announced something he had not seen coming at all.

"Well", he said at length, continuing with undressing his armour again, "the least I can do is have a few words with my men. They should not have let that scene continue to the point of violence."

Lothíriel made a vague sound at the back of her throat and closed her eyes momentarily. Now that she was sitting down and in the presence of one person she didn't need to pretend with, she was starting to feel like she could let go and go to sleep. The day had been a long one and tomorrow would be so as well; even if the Marshal told Athilda to lay off, she knew the chatelaine would not be pleased to have her disciplinary actions interrupted.

"I had some tidings for you as well, but perhaps you understand why I momentarily forgot", the Rohir spoke suddenly, making her look up at him.

"What is it, my lord?" she asked him curiously. A thoughtful frown touched his face before he opened his mouth again.

"On our way back, we stopped by one village by the Great West Road to water our horses and get some help with a lame horse", he started slowly, studying her intently. "The people there told me some strange news... they said a man of Gondor had ridden that way only a couple of days back. He had said he was no one else than Lord Boromir himself."

"Boromir! What is he doing in Rohan? Did those villagers say where he was headed?" Lothíriel demanded to know, jolting on her seat.

"I understand he was travelling westwards... he was seeking passage to Rivendell, Lord Elrond's abode. I find that quite peculiar, but perhaps you know why he might be on such a journey?" Lord Éomer asked now. He looked like he was just as taken aback by this as she felt.

"I have absolutely no idea", Lothíriel said, frowning to herself. What could possibly send her mighty cousin to seek for the legendary home of Lord Elrond? Had something happened in Gondor?

"The villagers did not report any ill tidings from Gondor, though apparently your cousin was reluctant to elaborate what he is looking for in Rivendell. Still, I had wondered if he made a stop here in Aldburg", the Marshal continued then, moving over to pour himself some ale.

"No, he did not. This is the first I heard he is travelling in Rohan... and, to be honest, it's perhaps for the better he did not come here. Even if I would have liked to see him", Lothíriel said and sighed. Then again, any reminder of home could have been extremely painful, although she was not very close with Boromir. She was much too young to mean much in his world, and in any case he was always too busy with his many duties to pay heed to his little cousin.

"Aye, perhaps so. Does he resemble you very much?" he asked her now, bringing back her attention.

"A little. Probably enough for people to put together two and two, if they saw us together. And I'm fairly sure he'd have recognised me... I don't think I could have fooled him, or claim I was some twin of his cousin, and it would have been damned hard to try and explain why I'm still alive", she said and made a face. Maybe Boromir would even have interrupted whatever quest was driving him towards Rivendell in order to take her back to Gondor...

"Well, once he returns, and you go back to your land, you will be able to tell him just how close he got to finding you", Lord Éomer said with a wry smile, which she somewhat returned. She did not want to think about home or going back there, not when she had no idea how far in the future her return might be.

And anyway, it was smarter to concentrate on what was _now._ After all, her present situation much depended on how well she could hold together her story. While she had Lord Éomer's protection and his promise to shelter her, he was not all-powerful, and they did not need his king learning about her presence.

Relaxed on her seat, she nearly dozed off, but then the Rohir took seat opposite her and she straightened. He looked tired too, which was no surprise – he had been riding patrols for over two weeks. Yet there was a companionable silence between them, which felt better than Lothíriel could ever have guessed. Being in these chambers, having no need to lie, and knowing she could trust the man before her... it was like laying down a burden which would only reveal its weight when it was gone.

"My lady", he spoke suddenly, interrupting her thoughts. Lothíriel looked up at him quizzically, and after a moment's hesitation he went on, "I was thinking you could just call me Éomer when there is no one else around. It seems silly to keep up with these titles."

His words came as something of a surprise, though the moment he uttered them, she could see the sense in his suggestion. He was watching her carefully, waiting for her reaction – ready to retreat in case she showed dismay. However, she found she agreed. At this point, they really were far beyond the rules of formality.

So Lothíriel nodded and gave him a slight smile, "Yes, it does, my lo- Éomer."

But though she may agree with him on an intellectual level, it still made her feel slightly abashed to actually speak his name, and she felt warmth on her cheeks. Aside from the men of her family and kin, he was the first unrelated nobleman with whom she was in first name terms.

"And of course you are free to use my name, as long as there is no danger of exposing me", she hurried to say then, hoping she might hide her burning face entirely under the damp cloth. But even behind it, she could see the Rohir was smiling.

 _He should smile more often. He looks so nice when he does..._ the errant thought took her unawares, and its origin was wholly strange to her. She decided it was because she was so tired.

But all things considered, though her day had been everything but delightful, at the end of it her mind was at ease. Perhaps it was strange, to have found such companionship with a man whose life and world could not be more different than those she had known until she had come as an exile to Rohan... and yet, her father had made friendship with Éomund many years ago, and maybe it wasn't odd at all that it should grow between their children as well.

Her sire had purposed to send her to the care of Éomund, the First Marshal of the Mark. However, Lothíriel was beginning to think if it were better for her to be guarded not by the father, but by the son.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** And here is a new chapter! I hope you enjoyed it, my dear readers. :) Things continue to move slowly, but little by little our favourite horselord and his princess are growing closer together. And what's more, they're now in first name stage!

As you probably noticed, here we see a brief mention of the canon events: I believe Boromir should be at this time in Rohan, making his way towards Rivendell. Fortunately for Lothíriel, he doesn't make an appearance in Aldburg. Like she believes, it is likely he would have blown her cover right away, had they happened to meet each other.

I also decided that Brithwen would eventually confront Lothíriel in one fashion or the other. However, Lothíriel's response - refusing to be humiliated and then punching her back - are actually kind of actions that Brithwen respects, however grudgingly. It's obvious who would win if they'd fight for real, but as a Shieldmaiden Brithwen appreciates when one shows enough spirit to stand up for themselves. So I have a feeling she'll think twice before confronting Lothíriel again.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **Crime of Passion'06 -** Perhaps not right away - I'd say they are still too unfamiliar, but things may be already changing. :) And I think Éomer has already noticed she's an attractive woman, though he still tries to think of her strictly through her status.

 **Rin -** Yes, I had great time writing about them as well! :D They appreciate this development very much. And I hope you like the bits with Éomer and Lothíriel in this chapter as well!

 **Thalia -** Thank you, I'll check it out!

 **Rachetg -** And it's fun to write about, especially when I haven't really got to explore it from this point of view. :) As for the relationship, we're going slowly but surely!

 **Rhiannon A. Christy -** So am I! :D

 **Wondereye -** I'm glad you liked it. :)

 **almythea -** Thank you!

 **Mm22 -** Glad to hear that! I try to write and update as quickly as I can, but RL has its demands on me, and this seems to be slow in writing.

 **Rubandepluie -** I admit I did have something like this in my mind from the start, though the specifics only started to take form when I developed my ideas a bit more. Not to mention, I just love to do things I haven't seen before, and this was certainly something unexplored! At any rate, I'm glad to hear you approve of my choices! :D

Anyway, I don't think either Lothíriel or Éomer were really prepared for the reactions. It was quite entertaining to write about, though! And yes, they are growing closer - slowly perhaps, but it is happening.

 **sailor68 -** Thank you! :)

 **Talia119 -** Well, what can I say? This story seems to be taking its own time. :D

Éomer did like and respect Brithwen - and still does - but it was not an emotional bond for him. I'd imagine he tried to be civil and respectful when leaving her, but it's rarely easy to just end a relationship like that.

The servants of the household (at least those whose reactions we saw) didn't really like or dislike Brithwen. While she was with Éomer, she mostly kept to herself, paying little to no attention to the servants and vice versa. At any rate, I don't think anyone really expected their affair to become a permanent agreement, considering he's Théoden's nephew and she's not even a lady of a noble line. If they seem excited about Lothíriel becoming his mistress, it's mostly due to it being (in their eyes) this underdog getting their victory -situation, the little miss nobody catching the eye of the King's nephew. As servants, they probably relate to Daerien much more than they did with Brithwen - not to mention, they enjoy the romantic potential as much as the readers do. ;)

As for why there were no ugly comments, it's mostly because people don't yet know how she's going to use her new position. Is she going to go running to Éomer if she's insulted? Does he like her so much that he won't suffer people mistreating her? Either way, getting on his bad side would not be smart while he's the lord of the house.

About timeline: it's now year 3018, Boromir is on his way to Rivendell, and the characters are at their canonical ages. So war is getting closer. Personally, I don't think Éomer set up anything - he's just doing what seems like the best thing to do in this frankly very difficult situation. As long as they pretend Lothíriel is his mistress, he can keep her close to himself and thus protect her from harm that might come to her if she fell into Wormtongue's hands. Of course, none of them know what future will bring, but at this time he's still hoping he'll be able to smuggle her back to Gondor with so little noise that a marriage will not be necessary.

 **Ellana Undomiel -** Thank you very much! I'm glad to hear you like the story so much. :) Also I'm relieved the pace is not too slow.

There might be more about Éomer and Brithwen's relationship, if a convenient moment arrives. At the moment, I'm perhaps more invested in developing his and Lothíriel's romance. But we'll see! Also perhaps this chapter answers to your question about whether Brithwen is going to seek out Lothíriel or not. At any rate, she probably knew from the start Éomer's heart really wasn't in their affair.

I'm glad you liked the shared bed - I did too! :D

 **Harmonii -** I hope you liked the confrontation! I know we didn't get that deep an insight to her thoughts, but she's still quite angry. I'll have to see if I can work something in the story as it progresses. :)

I'm afraid we are not going to get the first kiss or admitting their feelings any time soon. For one, Éomer is very reluctant to fall in love with anybody right now, so it will probably take him a while to realise and accept his feelings, and even more to admit them. As for Lothíriel, she's never been in this situation before, and she might confuse her growing affection with gratefulness. Well, I did say this is going to be a slow-paced story - but I'm fairly sure there will be more of these little moments to bring them gradually closer. As for her hair, I'd say he does like it very much. In my mind, Éomer has a huge weakness for dark hair! :D

 **Anonymous -** I'm hoping that the further you read, the more you understand his reasoning. At any rate, I can say Éomer's treatment of Lothíriel at that point of the story is a combination of several facts. First of all, his dream/vision of her would not exactly make him regard her as an enemy (if she were, why would she be asking for his help?). Then there is her cover story about being more Dúnedain than Dunlending, making her more an ally and less an enemy. Thirdly, he's not only a Marshal (a position that's not just randomly given to people in Rohan) but also a man of keen perception. He's a fairly good judge of character and it's clear to him this unarmed, more or less traumatised girl who got lost in the wild all alone is no danger to him or his people. Like he muses to himself, years have taught him to trust the feeling in his guts, and he knows when he's face to face with a threat. Éomer may be a bitter enemy to those who have earned it, but he's also fair in judging people, and Lothíriel never gives him a reason to be doubtful of her intentions. So to put it shortly, I don't see how he is out of character.  
As for Lothíriel's father, I don't think they had in mind to exchange messages, not any time soon at least. Even if their original plan had gone through, they probably considered it too risky to be in contact.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Around two weeks after they had made their agreement, Éomer came upon Lothíriel while she was busy scrubbing the long tables of the Hall. As usual, she curtsied and smiled at him, though now the smile held none of the formality. Instead, she felt as though looking at a _friend._ And that was what he had become: aiding her to stay safe, keeping her secret, and giving her the chance of being _herself._

Éomer returned the smile and nodded slightly at her, and for a moment she thought he'd pass her by and go about his way. However, he came to a halt next to her and looked at her with an expression in his eyes she did not entirely understand.

"Daerien, would you walk with me?" he asked her; she was glad he did not allow himself to forget who she was supposed to be.

"My work -" she protested uncertainly, glancing at the half-scrubbed table.

"- can wait. I would like to talk with you", he said calmly. He offered her his arm and smiled, "Don't worry about it. As the lord of this hall, I declare that table is perfectly fine."

Lothíriel could not help but smile at his words. So she wiped her hands on her apron and then accepted his offered arm. Even this little gesture of chivalry seemed odd now, like something from a dream she could barely remember. And the hand she placed on his limb was not the smooth, well-cared for she remembered. Her skin had become rough and her nails were short, and briefly she wondered in what other ways she had changed since the last time she had looked upon her reflection back in Dol Amroth.

The Marshal did not speak at first, though she sensed there was something on his mind – she didn't think he simply wished to stroll with her through the hall. However, she let him take his time and rather enjoyed this break from the chores of the household. No doubt it would earn her a few sharp glances from Athilda later on, but the chatelaine had yet to directly scold her for the liberties her new position was causing her to take. Apparently, there was a line even she did not dare to cross.

The horselord lead her to the shadowy side of the Hall, away from the fireplace and the tables. Here were some benches by the walls, which where adorned by beautiful hangings. Rohirrim loved warmth and colours, Lothíriel had observed as she had examined the decorations of the Hall. Often they would depict the sun on their emblems, shining on a green field. Then there were horses, and riders charging in battle. There was even one hanging with Eorl the Young, the legendary first king of Rohan, and from whom Éomer himself was descended.

Her focus was returned to him from the hangings when the Rohir suddenly spoke, his voice low and soft.

"I have something for you", he began slowly, "but I thought maybe I should explain myself first, before I proceed."

She looked at him quizzically, wondering what this was about. He let out a small sigh.

"One thing I did not think to share with you at the time we made our agreement was... well, there's one more thing expected of us in this situation. You see, I should present you with gifts from time to time", he said, his eyes drifting off towards the hangings on the wall, and then back to her again. Before Lothíriel had time to say anything, he added, "I understand if it makes you feel uncomfortable. But I'm afraid it is necessary you allow me this... it is considered a sign I am pleased with you. If I do not give you any gifts, it will raise some questions."

He had been right to notice she was uneasy. Indeed, the idea of receiving gifts from him, however small, only made her feel more thankless than she already did. He had already gone far beyond his way and duty to help her! And yet, if he thought it was necessary... what could she possibly say to refuse? The last thing she wanted was people wondering why did the Marshal keep her company if she were not to his liking.

"I see", she spoke at last, wrapping her arms about her midsection. The feeling of her own inadequateness was nearly crushing, and grimly she thought Father would have to present Éomer with some very impressive rewards in order to make up for all she had come to cost the man.

Seeing she agreed, albeit reluctantly, he reached for the leather purse on his belt, and produced a piece of jewellery from inside. It was a necklace wrought of gold, and in it were embedded beautiful green gemstones along with white shining ones. The fine arrangement of gemstones, lovingly crafted by a master's hand, reminded her of the white flower Simbelmynë. It was a stunning piece, even in Gondorian standards.

"This belonged to my mother. I thought it would suit you", Éomer said, suddenly sounding awkward. Something told her jewellery had not exactly been the thing he had given to Brithwen.

"But my lord! I can't possibly accept it!" Lothíriel hissed in dismay, slipping into honorific titles despite their previous agreement. Never in a thousand years could she take an heirloom like this!

"Lothíriel, I must insist", he said gravely, holding her down with his keen gaze.

"You have to see why I can't take this. It was your mother's – you shouldn't be giving it to me, not even in the name of any pretence. This should go to – to your wife", she said and blushed deeply. There was an unsettling look in his eyes and she had to look away. From time to time, she had noticed there was great force in his gaze, and she had to wonder if he were aware of it himself. And sometimes, she feared being drawn under its power, as though one enchanted by some Elven magic.

Her friend sighed and remained silent for a moment. Then he uttered, "In that case, perhaps you could hold on to it for me? Keep it for the time being?"

"... yes. I can do that", she agreed at length. To be honest, it did not feel right that she should wear the necklace which had once adorned the neck and the breast of Princess Théodwyn, but she didn't see how she could refuse. After all, it was only to borrow it, and she'd return it when she'd go home again.

So she turned around and lifted her braid on her shoulder, to give him access to fasten the necklace. The tips of his fingers brushed against her skin, hard and rough but still tender. She could not fight the shiver that ran down her spine, and then she felt the weight of the necklace settle on her chest. The precious metal was not cold – instead, it held the warmth which had passed into it from Éomer's hand.

When it was in place, Lothíriel turned around again. His eyes met hers, and then fell down, gazing at the necklace she now wore.

"It suits you", he simply said. She thought he looked slightly sad, and guessed it was because he remembered his mother wearing this piece of jewellery.

"I promise to keep it safe", she reassured him softly. The Rohir gave her a curt nod and then, after wishing her a good day, he turned to leave. Lothíriel bit her lip, words dancing just on her tongue, but he was on his way already. So she swallowed and watched him go, noting how tensely he held his shoulders. Oh, Elbereth! Would a day ever come when she wouldn't be a burden for him to bear?

Her mind was troubled as she returned to work, though she did best to hide her mood. Simple girls, those like Daerien, were supposed to be happy when gifted with such a beautiful thing as the necklace now adorning her breast... but she still felt uneasy, especially when other servants complimented on the piece of jewellery. Generally, she had felt a slight change in how they regarded her, and she guessed it had to do with her brawl with Brithwen. Aengifu and Saethryd had praised her afterwards, telling her they were proud of how she had stood up for herself. She quickly gathered Rohirrim appreciated such an answer to being challenged – and it probably meant Brithwen would be leaving her alone.

"Not to mention, I think quite a few people know now why Lord Éomer chose you. That man needs someone who can stand up to him, or so they tell me", Saethryd had said brightly and patted her shoulder as though the girl was her proud mother.

At any rate, her receiving the necklace seemed like yet another way to solidify her position and place in the Marshal's Hall; but it did not mean everyone approved. For later that evening when she was done scrubbing clean the pots and the pans in the kitchens and went to ask Athilda if anything else needed to be done... the woman's lips pursed when Lothíriel approached, until suddenly her sharp, cool eyes fell on the necklace.

The chatelaine let out a low hiss and her hand reached forward, her bony fingers bending into resembling claws of a great bird of prey. She would probably have reached the necklace too, and ripped it off, hadn't Lothíriel sharply moved backwards.

"Where did you get that, girl? Did you steal it?" Athilda snarled, her eyes fixed on the piece of jewellery.

"Of course not. The Marshal gave it to me", Lothíriel said, her hand rising up to the necklace and to cover it – she didn't want the chatelaine to snatch it away, whatever the reason for the woman's outburst might be.

Athilda's eyes blazed, making the princess wonder if she somehow thought receiving this necklace as a gift was even worse than stealing it.

"He did?" snapped the chatelaine, her nostrils flaring – she looked like she could just barely keep herself from jumping ahead and slapping the young woman before her.

"Yes. It was a gift", Lothíriel said softly, though she pondered why Athilda would react so strongly to this. What did she care about her and Éomer's relationship?

The woman before her sneered, "That was his _mother's._ You are not worthy of wearing it! You have no right -"

"You are correct. I'm not worthy", said the princess loudly, interrupting the chatelaine in the middle of her sentence. Athilda paled slightly, looking like never in her life had she been treated so. But Lothíriel continued, keeping her tone calm, "However, it is not up to you to decide. If you have a problem, take it up with the Lord Marshal. I'm sure he'd be fascinated to hear your opinion on mine and his private business."

Almost without her own notice, she had lifted up her chin and straightened her posture. Her old pride, hidden away for months to ensure her anonymity, had raised its head once more... encouraged by the knowledge that among Rohirrim, even the smallest serving maid could hold a measure of pride. She had endured much since coming into this land, and this woman had no right to judge her – especially when she had done nothing to deserve such a grudge.

Athilda's face grew even whiter than before. Her lips tight against her teeth, she spoke in a low, resentful voice, "You have grown bold since the Marshal took you to his bed, girl. But make no mistake. His favour still doesn't change the truth."

"Which is what?" Lothíriel asked; though she knew how to control her expression and her voice, to keep from reacting to the woman's words, she could not help the warmth on her cheeks.

The chatelaine smiled ever so slightly, but combined with the icy glare of her eyes, she only looked hateful.

"You are still no better than the filth scraped off the street", Athilda announced and turned, leaving the younger woman fuming where she stood. How she longed to grab the stubborn chatelaine and tell her everything, make her see how very pointless this hatred was. But she was angry too, because an insult to her was an insult to her line – surely her forebears, the proud princes and bright-eyed ladies of Númenor, were turning around in their graves?

But Lothíriel forced herself to swallow the humiliation and anger. Lashing out was not worth exposing herself, and the hateful chatelaine was the last person she wanted to trust with her secret. Still, the bitter and burning taste of insult was hard to accept, and for a long time she stood there trying to hold it all together.

 _It's not worth it. She knows nothing. It's not worth it..._

Though eventually she did manage to get her wildly racing mind under control, her mood remained sour at the time she entered the Marshal's chambers for the night. Her friend was already there, inspecting one of his vambraces – she remembered him muttering something about the leather straps needing a fix. But as she entered, he looked up at her, and quickly his smile made way to a frown.

"What's wrong?" Éomer asked, sensing her state of mind right away.

Lothíriel didn't answer right away. She just went over to the chair by the fire – _her_ chair, as she had started to think of it – and fell to sit with a muffled groan. But Éomer stood expecting for an answer, and she knew he was not going to let this pass. _Elbereth, what a stubborn man._

"It's just Athilda", she muttered, rubbing her forehead. _No better than the filth scraped off the street..._

"What did she do now?" inquired the horselord as he took seat opposite her.

"She saw the necklace you borrowed me, and she got angry. She apparently thinks I'm no better than something that crawled out of gutter", Lothíriel said, cringing as she spoke.

Éomer's eyes flashed in a way that might have disconcerted her greatly, hadn't she known she was not the target of his ire. He hissed a curse in his own tongue and was on his feet in less than seconds, stalking away from the chairs as though a great beast on the prowl.

"I will have a word or two with her", he said eventually, and his voice was too controlled to be anything else than a firm reign over red-hot fury.

"It's no -" Lothíriel started, but the horselord turned sharply towards her, and his words lashed out like a whip.

"Don't make excuses for her. That woman has tormented you quite enough", he said, his voice almost like a growl. It had her falling quiet, and her friend turned his back at her, his shoulders heaving in his attempt to calm down. Lothíriel knew better than to try to say anything at this moment.

When he eventually returned to sit opposite her, anger had left his expression and his eyes. Instead, she thought he looked resigned.

"What a fool I was", Éomer muttered, rubbing his face wearily. "I should have known Athilda would not be pleased to see that necklace on you... she loved my mother dearly, you see. And considering her frankly irrational hatred of you, she was bound to react the way she did."

Lothíriel decided it was not strange this had not occurred to him earlier. As far as she knew him, the only thing Éomer adorned himself with was his sword. To jewellery he gave only a passing thought, and so he had meant to give away a piece that had belonged to his mother – only realising its meaning when it was adorning her neck. But what else could one expect from a man of war so invested in his trade as he was? He had greater concerns than this.

She was not sure what to say, and anyway she didn't need to – he went on after a moment's silence, and his voice was stark again.

"However, no matter what she thinks, Athilda is not the lady of this house, and if I want to give you that necklace, then I damn well shall. I believe it is high time I reminded her of her place", he said, his voice echoing with the authority he had been born to command and wield.

Silently she nodded, knowing she could trust him to keep his word. And perhaps it was just what had to be done: she had tried to keep from Athilda's way, hoping to win the woman's acceptance eventually, but her attempts had availed her nothing. Like Éomer had said, the chatelaine's hatred was irrational... and irredeemable, as it seemed.

He sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose, looking like a man who has foreseen a long period of headaches in his future. Then he looked at her, resigned once more.

"I am very sorry, Lothíriel. You deserve none of this", he stated tiredly.

"Well, it's my own stupid doing, trying to convince you and your folk I have something to do with Dunlendings", she said and shook her head. He had already done so much for her, she didn't need him regretting every obstacle that came her way. Lothíriel cringed, "I should have thought of something better."

"But it is not natural for you to lie. Least of all after experiencing such distress as you were in at the time", Éomer pointed out, holding her gaze with his own, and making her feel once more like he was seeing straight into her deepest secrets.

"Yes", she murmured and forced her eyes away, to look down at her hands. Somehow, it unsettled her that he'd see so clearly through her – know her character when she felt she had not even started to scratch his surface. She knew he was a good man, dutiful and honourable one, but behind that... there was a wilderness in him unexplored and untamed.

Eventually she looked up again, meeting his eyes, which had never left her face. Lothíriel offered him a small smile.

"Thank you for the necklace, Éomer. It is a beautiful thing, even for keeping", she said softly, and was glad to see the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. Her fingers rose to her neck, running gently against the jewels embedded in gold. What had she been like, the woman who had carried this before her?

"I'm glad you like it", he said, his voice warm not with anger, but with something else entirely. "Pay no heed to Athilda. She's a bitter woman, and my mother would only be glad to see her necklace adorn a neck so fair."

And, hearing those words, what else could she do except blush?

* * *

Days soon took a pattern that was somehow comforting against the many tidings of peril that now came to Aldburg. The Marshal and his riders were needed increasingly often to fight off the orcs that kept coming both from the west and the east, and there were whispers of even darker things stalking the land of the horselords. Morosely Lothíriel wondered what her father would have said to these news – and if he would have regretted sending her away from the safety of the great walls of Dol Amroth . But he was far, farther somehow than any moment before now, and at times, she'd even have trouble remembering his smell, the feeling of his hands on her own. Every day, usually at the time she had curled up next to the Marshal or on her bedroll, she would think about her family – how went their life now, did they miss her as much as she missed them, and when she might see them again. Thinking of them never came without some pain, but Lothíriel had quickly deemed it was merely the price of remembering, and refusing it would also be _forgetting._

And to remember was important, now more than ever. There were instances when her life before Rohan seemed like a dream, and in the every day comings and goings of the Hall, Daerien the serving maid would appear more real than the Princess Lothíriel of the Amrothian line. In the quiet of her thoughts she feared it would have been all too easy to lose herself hadn't Éomer been in on the secret. Though she certainly hadn't expected that, somehow _he_ anchored her into the truth, into who she really was. And she knew that at this time, she couldn't even begin to comprehend how much she owed to him for that.

The times she came closest to being her true self were in the evenings spent in the Marshal's chambers. Often when he was in residence, Éomer would invite her there, and usually it happened they would spend the night in conversations. It did not take Lothíriel long to come to the conclusion that she rather enjoyed their talks. He was endlessly curious of the tales she could tell of her own land, of the histories and culture of her people. So she'd share the things she had been taught, and some nights they might even talk of politics. Éomer had not received such schooling in the matter as her, but he seemed to have a good head for it, and he grasped the ideas very quickly. His questions were astute and insightful, sometimes even challenging things she had taken for granted. These conversations might go on so long that only embers remained in the fireplace, and night had already fallen outside. Then, usually reluctantly, they would agree it was high time to go to bed.

The unexpected result of their conversations took place in the courts of Edoras, though Lothíriel was not there to see it. One day she heard a pair of riders talking, and they were wondering about how Éomer had more or less dismantled Wormtongue at the King's Council the other day – if such a manner of speaking could be used.

"They say he's never spoken like that before. True, he's a smart fellow, but I took him to be more of a soldier than a politician. Where do you think he learned to talk like that?" asked one of the two men, but Lothíriel did not stick around to hear the answer. Instead, she kept her head down and hurried along. Still, she could not stop grinning to herself, delighted and somewhat amazed that their debates seemed to be of greater consequence than just entertainment or getting to know each other. And when he occasionally started to ask her opinion on this or that matter of the realm, based on her education and knowledge of politics, Lothíriel was glad to share her thoughts. She had certainly not expected it, but if her schooling could help him in any way, she was glad to share the things she had learned from the masters of Dol Amroth.

She was not prepared for the first time she hugged him while there was no armour in between. It was one night few days after he had given her the necklace, and she was heading for bed when she passed him by in the hall. With a smile and blissful unawareness Lothíriel wrapped arms about her helper, and then she was close against him. She was not prepared for the warmth radiating from him, or the sensation of being so tightly pressed into a hard, male body. There was only his linen shirt between her cheek and his chest and she could swear she was able to _feel_ his strength. When she pulled back, she could barely stammer the wish for good night, and a tingling sensation remained in the pit of her stomach for several days that followed.

After the first embarrassment, touches and hugs became easier – though she preferred to hug him when he was armoured, as that would spare her from some very confusing sensations – and she would not feel awkward leaning against him in an embrace. It was as she had perceived before: in this human contact there was comfort unlike anything a word could bring. She grew to expect his kiss on her brow, or his hand on her waist, or his fingers curling about hers. The moment of shared warmth often made her smile, and his scent, just as rich and deep as she had first smelled it, would surround her like a sheltering cloak.

When Éomer was away – either on patrols, or running errands, or meeting with the King in Edoras – Lothíriel's days would proceed much in the same way as before. There would be work and meals and free time spent with other servants, and she found comfort in routine. And yet to her surprise, she found herself looking forward to the return of the Marshal and his riders, and when the word came he was soon to enter the town, her heart would leap in joy. Lothíriel reasoned it was because with him, she didn't have to pretend anything.

But what she did not see coming was the other side of the joy of return. That was the dread she felt, especially on a day about a month after they had made their agreement, and he rode out to face a large party of orcs, which had been raiding the villages near the borderlands. As she watched him and his men make for the road, Lothíriel thought it was simply because Éomer dying would mean unimaginable perils for her... and still, watching how the wind caught in the white horsetail of his helmet, she feared not for herself, but _him._

The teasing giggles of her servant friends would then distract her, and Saethryd demanded if she were already missing her Rohirric stallion; she snorted in weary exasperation and tore her gaze away from the sight of the Marshal and his éored riding away.

Derehild was more understanding. That night, when Lothíriel sat by the great fireplace of the hall, moping away the evening and taking no part in others' merrymaking, the other girl came to sit by her side. Derehild was not as lively and outspoken as Saethryd and Aengifu, but her solemn hazel eyes held wisdom beyond her years. In the light of fire her thick, honey-brown braids would reveal a glimmer of gold, making it look like her hair was a crown upon her head.

"I know how it feels like", Derehild spoke softly, reaching her hands towards the fire, "for I feel it too, every time Wulfgar rides out with the Marshal."

Lothíriel said nothing, though her mind was loud with things she wasn't sure she understood. She swallowed, but her mouth was dry and the lump in her throat which appeared as though from nowhere did not move despite her attempts. She had never felt such crippling fear, except when her father and brothers would sail to guard the coasts of the realm.

But something rebelled in her, and so she muttered, "I don't know what you mean."

Where those words came from, and why should she speak them out loud, Lothíriel was not sure. A quick glance at the young woman next to her also confirmed her statement was not convincing in the slightest.

"You don't need to pretend you don't care about him. I saw how you watched him go", Derehild simply said, and a corner of her mouth lifted slightly in a half-smile.

The princess said nothing. She stared at her hands in silence and thought to mumble something about it was only right to care about the Marshal's well-being, after all he had done for her. But somehow the words went too deep, the feeling behind them was too real.

 _He's my friend. He has sacrificed much for me. Of course I care about him,_ she thought, but none of that came out as words spoken out loud.

"Derehild", Lothíriel spoke up suddenly, looking at her friend. "What happened to Éomund? And his wife?"

The question had been in her mind at times, for she had only heard references, and softly spoken words – never the full tale. All she knew was Éomund had died in battle, but she had not dared to ask Éomer about it for the fear it might be painful for him. Now, for reasons she could well name but dared not, the story was close to her mind.

Derehild sighed and crossed her hands in her lap.

"Éomund was a mighty warrior, but if he had a weakness, it was his hot temper. Sometimes, he'd allow it to rule his decisions, and it made him reckless. So, one time there came tidings of orcs raiding the land, and in anger he rode to hunt them... but when he came upon the orcs with his riders, there was a great number of them, much more than he had guessed. Éomund and his éored fought valiantly and even managed to defeat the pack, but the First Marshal was slain", she explained quietly, gazing into the fire. Waiting for her own rider, she knew well this tale, and dreaded it might become her story as well. And when Lothíriel heard how her friend sounded like, she regretted it: she should have asked Saethryd, or perhaps Aengifu.

Looking up from the flames, Derehild continued, "It broke the heart of his wife, Princess Théodwyn – there was a great love between them, you see. Their romance was a famous story at the time... at any rate, she became very ill, and having no desire to keep on living when her lord was gone, she died before the year had passed."

"And Lord Éomer and his sister?" Lothíriel asked, her voice but a trembling croak. She had not known there was such sorrow in this tale, though she felt it explained much about Éomer – and why she would sometimes feel that while there was a great passion for living in him, he did not let many people close to himself.

"Their uncle, Théoden King, took them in, brought them to Edoras and raised them like his own children. But I do not think they ever forgot their grief... can you imagine, Daerien? Being abandoned like that by your own mother, when you're only just a child?" Derehild asked, her voice suddenly vehement.

"No", she murmured and looked down at her hands. "No, I can't."

Her own mother had got sick, and she would have lived if the disease hadn't been stronger than her; there had never been a choice... and her father had lived on. Now, if ever, she felt she understood a bit of those things that lived in Éomer's eyes when he thought she didn't see.

She sat silent, and Derehild seemed to sense she was not in a conversing mood, and so the girl stood up. For a moment she rested her hand on Lothíriel's shoulder, and the princess let out the smallest of sighs.

 _Of course. Of course I care... of course I care about him._

* * *

Éomer had been gone for nearly three weeks when one day, as Lothíriel was busy cleaning the great fireplace in the hall along with Derehild, that a word came of the Marshal's return. There had been a knot in her stomach for many days now, twisting and turning at any given point, and especially when she thought of the man who shared her secret. It was difficult to ignore the knowledge of how easily a blade might steal the life of a man in his prime – her poor knights came to mind – and Éomer had ridden to meet a great force of orcs. And she would think of what Derehild had told her about his father: how Éomund had hastened to hunt orcs, letting his temper get better of him. In the end, he had returned to Aldburg on his shield.

And, though she had not guessed it would happen, Éomer's fate on the unsafe roads had now entered the company of things that haunted her at night.

Then, upon hearing he was coming home, it was like the knots were undone in one swift pull, and Lothíriel felt like something heavy had fallen from her. Wasting no time, she got up from the floor, where she had been on all fours, scrubbing the fireplace. The brush fell from her hand as she hurried for the twin doors of the hall, and Athilda's sharp commands did not occur to her ears, in which blood was bounding fast.

Air hit against her face when she came outside and at the same time the Marshal and his riders entered the courtyard – though relief had already taken her, it washed over her once more when she spotted the man in red-brown armour and the sunlight glimmering on the white horsetail of his helmet. There was noise and clamour as stablemen came to take the horses, and riders dismounted, greeting their friends and families. But Lothíriel lifted her hand to wave at Éomer and he flashed her a quick smile as an answer; she was glad to notice he seemed altogether hale.

Once he had given orders to his men, he came to meet her, at which time Lothíriel already felt silly for her eagerness. Athilda was not like to appreciate her running off like so either, but turning back was not an option. She had decided to make a fool of herself, and she would follow with that course of action until the end.

But then Éomer came, and she took notice of how weary he seemed, how he looked like he was able to hold up his shoulders only with great effort, and she wondered if something bad had happened while he had been fighting orcs. Lothíriel meant to inquire if he were well, but then he was before her, and without a word he pulled her close, his hand pressing against the small of her back and bringing her tight into him. She could feel the tension emanating from him, flowing out like waves of cold fire. He might be weary but she did not have the slightest doubt he wouldn't be able to snap back into warrior's wrath in a second, should there be any reason for it.

"I'm glad you're back", she said, somewhat breathlessly, as she wrapped his own arms about him. He smelled of wind and the wild and the layers of leather and metal were cool under her hands – more difficult to hold on to than his body when he was without an armour.

"Likewise", he muttered, and she could feel his cheek against her head. He held on, without any sign he might let her go any time soon, and she wasn't sure if she should try to pull back or not. If something was wrong, she could not deny him this.

"What is it?" Lothíriel asked carefully, lifting up her eyes to see his face. But when she did, there was a ghost of a smile on his features, and he shook his head slightly.

"It's just good to see a friendly face when coming home. I had forgotten how that feels like", Éomer responded at length and leaned closer to kiss her brow. These days, the gesture seemed to come almost as a second nature. Be it as may, his words surprised her somewhat, but also made her smile as an answer.

"It better feel good", she told him, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, "I literally just dropped my work in the front of Athilda when they said you're home."

Éomer snorted and to her silent satisfaction, she could see his tension dissolve somewhat.

"Well, a man does want to see the face of his woman when he comes home, so Athilda should just deal with it", he stated, and Lothíriel could tell his words were meant humorously; a part of her took them just as so. But there was still that other part, which even now would have her embarrassed and blushing at times, be it convenient or not. For the words he uttered held an entire world, which neither of them would address to, but sometimes she could still feel he was just as aware of it as she was.

 _His woman._

Her cheeks burning, she looked away and the Rohir coughed, taking a step back.

"Forgive me for being so coarse", he said in a quiet voice.

"It's fine. I am a prude, as you know", Lothíriel said and gave him a weak smile. He somewhat returned it, though the earlier ease was now gone.

"Aye, so you tell me", Éomer said in a tone she could not really interpret. He seemed to shake himself then, "Don't worry about Athilda. She knows she can take it up to me if she has a problem."

"I hope so. I think you're better at taking a beating than I am", Lothíriel said, hoping to regain the humour she had tried to ignite only moments before, and he did chuckle under his breath. So she encouraged herself to ask, "I will see you later tonight? After supper?"

Now Éomer smiled once more, and his expression was without tension or discomfort.

"Of course. You know where to find me."

* * *

As agreed before, Lothíriel was at the Marshal's door after supper. He invited her in almost as soon as she knocked, and she entered – the motions were familiar now after many nights spent with him. And as on many nights before, she felt relieved upon entering, like shrugging off a mantle so heavy that wearing it would push her down and bend her back. But here, in this room, she could stand straight.

At first she was about to take seat, as she did most nights, but then she took notice of her friend. Éomer was looking again just as tense as before, his brow knitted and his mouth a hard line. He was reading a piece of parchment, but he laid it aside when she stepped closer.

"What is wrong?" Lothíriel asked, searching his face in concern.

"I'd rather you don't worry about it", he said, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Did something happen during the patrol?" she pressed on, determined to find out what was causing him this mood. Now the Rohir looked up at her, and she held his gaze – he seemed to understand she could be just as stubborn as himself.

Éomer sighed and rubbed his forehead before settling to stare into the fire.

"I lost some men fighting those orcs. Good men, some of them long time friends", he said in a quiet, tired voice. He didn't need to tell her more – she knew all too well what grief he must be feeling. Lothíriel thought of Sergeant Celon and his men, who had been slaughtered and would never know the honour of proper burial. And she was the only one who carried their memory now, for their friends and kin in Dol Amroth knew nothing of their fate.

She came to stand by the side of her friend and lay her hand on his shoulder, to offer him what comfort she could.

"I'm sorry", she said softly, and beyond a muffled grunt, he did not say anything.

The silence lengthened between them, but she did not leave his side or move her hand. Lothíriel could not feel the muscles of his shoulder and back growing any less tense, though minutes passed. It felt rock hard, as though the strain was permanently settled into him.

When the idea occurred to him only seconds later, she thought it was the most obvious thing in the world – it even made her smile somewhat, though she yet had to speak it out loud. Maybe she couldn't do much about the loss of his friends, but she could do this, at least.

"I know right now there is not much I can do to return your help and protection, but... well, there may be a way I can make you feel a tiny bit better", she spoke up at last, making him look up, his expression quizzical and somewhat confused.

She cleared her throat and continued, "Can you sit on the floor? The backrest is on the way, and you're tall, as you may have noticed."

That made the corner of his mouth lift briefly, and looking curious now, Éomer did as she asked. As he settled on the floor before the armchair and crossed his legs, she took seat behind him and ordered, "Sit up straight. Relax your arms and hands. That's good."

Lothíriel took breath and lay her hands on his shoulders. Then, with the use of practice, she started to rub the tense muscles, searching the broad expanse of his shoulders, feeling out the particularly stiff spots. It seemed to her he was nothing but hard muscle beneath her fingers and she had to wonder if there were anything soft about the man; warmth spread across her cheeks and she was glad he could not see her face now. Soon the kneading of her hands began to work its magic, and she could feel him mellowing under her touch.

He sat relaxed and an occasional little moan from him confirmed that the treatment was entirely welcomed. It was strange and slightly overwhelming to have someone so deadly just melt under her hands. No words were spoken between them, but that would have been unnecessary, and she thought it might have ruined the moment. And her chiefest hope was to ease his mind, if only for a little while.

When she finished, over half an hour had already passed. With a final sigh Éomer seemed to let go of what remained of his tension, and she knew she had done well. Lothíriel allowed herself a small smile and she patted his shoulder gently.

"Feeling better?" she asked him.

"Much better. Thank you", he said, glancing at her over his shoulder. The impact of that look could not be explained; had she ever seen his eyes so warm and soft, or his face so free of care?

Unaware of how her breath was caught in her throat, he smiled, "I think I could just roll over and sleep right here. Where did you learn to do that?"

She had to cough to get back her voice, but fortunately it did come out collected, "It's amazing what one can learn with three whiny brothers who just love to take a beating from my father's master in arms."

Lothíriel had meant to speak those words lightly, thinking it would amuse him. But by now she should know better; she should know the pain of longing and homesickness came back every time she thought of her family. She looked down in her lap and bit her lip, fighting the tears that were just behind her eyes. Would a day ever come there would be no more tears left?

There was a hand on her own, gentle and comforting.

"They must be missing you, too", Éomer said in a soft voice. Unable to speak, Lothíriel nodded. Had Father already told them the truth? Or did they still think she was dead? She hoped he had – it would be a way to feeling a bit closer to them.

"What are they like? If I may ask?" he inquired suddenly, and she glanced at the man sitting by her feet. He had turned around to face her, and he still kept his hand on her own. She wanted to say nothing, to reject the anguish of remembering. But it was like she had reasoned before: to reject it would be to forget. And right now, memories were all that tied her to Dol Amroth.

"You'd like them, I think. You'd get along with Elphir quite well, because he too knows a thing or two about looking after people – namely his siblings... Elbereth, we used to get into so much trouble, but Elphir always knew how to get us out of it. Erchirion might be a bit difficult to understand, because he only cares about the sea... and Amrothos! How do I even begin to explain Amrothos?" she said at length, smiling tearfully but still meeting the eyes of her friend. In telling about her brothers, they were close to her once more. They became real – and she was real, too. Princess Lothíriel was real, because this man before her believed in her.

And who could have known what comfort there was in that?

* * *

The payment for remembering was always the same. Lothíriel might know that it was necessary to recall, because otherwise, it would be too easy to just lose herself and who she was. However, this knowledge did not make it any easier to bear when the nightmares came to assault her at night. Apparently, her mind was not about to run out of ways to torment her. She might find herself returning to Dol Amroth, only to realise that she _had_ become Daerien, and none of her family would recognise her. They would laugh at the stupid girl who thought herself something important, and then they would cast her out, leaving her wandering homeless and alone. Some nights, her uncle had found out about her and Father's schemes, and for whatever reason it had angered him so that he had burned down the city by the sea, and her family was scattered to the winds, never to be reunited again. Then there was Bartas, the pirate she had been promised to, searching for her and haunting her steps, hell-bent on catching his prize... he had no face, for she had no idea of what he even looked like, but the shape stalking just behind her shadow seemed to bear his name anyway, and she could not get away no matter how fast she ran. And sometimes perhaps it was just her knights, falling endlessly, laughing one moment and then suddenly screaming as they were butchered.

If she were lucky, she would not make a sound as she woke up. But there were nights when Lothíriel startled awake, sobbing as she did, and her hands reaching for the image of her father that often lurked just at the edge of her vision. So he did this time as well, and she gasped softly as she took in her surroundings; but Father was gone, stripped away by the fading nightmare.

The Marshal's chambers were quiet and dark at this hour, and next to her Éomer slept quietly. His slow, even breathing was a sound that helped her frantic heartbeat to calm down, and Lothíriel let out a soft sigh. There was nothing to fear, not with him so close. Dreams were just dreams, Bartas was far away, and if her uncle had somehow found out she was hiding in Rohan, he would already have sent someone to get her back; even then, Éomer would not let them take her away. As for becoming Daerien... well, as long as the Rohir anchored her into herself, there was no chance she would get lost.

Content with these resolutions, Lothíriel sighed again and curled up on her side, moving just slightly closer to the man next to her. It was strange, that she would have got so used to having him there or how much she took comfort in his nearness, though in her rational mind she knew just how scandalous this would have been if anyone ever found out. Yet even if it were so, the nights she slept here she usually didn't have many nightmares. Tonight was just an exception, and it had been caused by telling him about her family.

And tonight had not yet ended.

* * *

Some time during the night, Éomer woke up to the sensation of being deliciously content and comfortable, and against his side there was someone soft and warm. At first, he was sleepy and confused, because Brithwen had never been fond of cuddling, and then to his increasing bewilderment he remembered his relationship with the Shieldmaiden had ended many weeks ago. Not to mention, during their time together, he had never found much softness in her, body or soul. So why on earth would there be someone pressed against him like this, clutching a fistful of his shirt in their hand, and using his shoulder as their pillow as they slept?

Béma, he had missed this. The shared warmth, the closeness, the trust... he always slept better when there was something – _someone –_ to hold on to as the hours of the night crawled by. But Brithwen had never wanted to be held, and she was gone anyway, so who was it next to him unless he was dreaming?

His eyelids were heavy with weariness that was still pulling him back to sleep, but he forced them open. Then he saw her dark-haired head, her glossy tresses cascading like a shadowy veil about them both. Éomer breathed in and out as his mind supplied him with the answer to the question who of his folk had such dark hair, and for the longest time all he could think of was how he should be able to disentangle himself from her. He had no memory of pulling her to him during the night, so perhaps he had done that in his sleep... it was an accident, so surely she would not be angry with him for taking such liberties.

He tried to move, to push her gently back to her own side of the bed. But Lothíriel let out a small sound of discontent in her sleep, snuggled even closer to him, and held on tight to his shirt. Apparently, she rather liked it there right next to him. Or, at least she did like it while she was unaware of how compromising her position and place was. Éomer lay still again, staring at the maiden next to him, keenly and almost painfully aware of how wrong this all was – it was not his place to be so near to her, to see this princess at her most vulnerable.

And yet he could not look away. A feeling of quiet amazement was growing in his heart, for time and again she kept proving just how much to his idea of Gondorian princesses she _didn't_ conform. Her tenacity, her determination, her spirit... in her drive to survive she denied much of the stereotypes of a well-bred lady, especially in how calmly she accepted the cruder aspects of Rohirric culture – and how she insisted on working hard, even though their pretence of her being his mistress would have allowed her more leisure than she had. And yet, behind her will, she still kept a gentle, warm heart and hopeful eyes that saw beauty in simplest of things. No wonder she had been able to fool him in the beginning and to hide her true identity. Or perhaps noble ladies of Stoningland just were modest and brave and enduring, and he simply had it wrong... and yet, looking at this woman sleeping by his side, Éomer could not be anything except convinced she was one of a kind.

He relaxed again. There was no point in moving her away and potentially waking her up, not when she slept so peacefully. Maybe he should just let this slip happen... even if it were unwise. But Lothíriel was at peace, and he could not disturb that, not when he knew how much she had to struggle every day, how painfully she missed those who loved her and knew who she really was. Surely he was not taking much by letting her stay there for the night?

And so, deciding this was not as wrong as he had initially thought, Éomer let his arm fall around her shoulders again. It was more comfortable that way, and she would be warmer. Friends shared warmth, did they not?

The princess he had hidden sighed softly in her sleep and she was warm and soft, and for the briefest seconds, he felt like she was seeping into him. Or perhaps it was the other way around. In any case, he would do well to follow her example and try to get some sleep. After all, what else could one have except for fair dreams when resting next to a maiden like her?

* * *

The dawn was probably only an hour away or so when Lothíriel woke up again. This time, it was not to a nightmare – perhaps some tiny shift of the world at the threshold of a new day just pulled her from dreams. Those had been remarkably bland and peaceful for the rest of the night, for which she was glad.

But as she emerged to the waking world, a curious thing occurred to her: her cushion and blanket appeared to be a living, breathing thing. It was warm too, so warm that not an inch of her felt cold at this time. The smell of her lovely cushion was rich and comforting and familiar, and sleepily she tried to remember where she knew it from, but it still took her minutes to fully snap out of this half-awake reverie.

Cushions and blankets weren't normally living things, were they? Lothíriel didn't want to think about that, because she was so comfortable and warm, so secure in this nicely snug space. She wanted to fall back asleep, to catch as much of rest as she could before the day's labours. However, there was a voice at the back of her head, growing ever stronger, and it was demanding to know what exactly _was_ her resting place.

And Lothíriel was curious enough to find out.

She opened her eyes, blinking as she pushed aside the weight of dreams. She saw the surface of a crumpled shirt, the kind she had seen Éomer wearing under his coat. Being the gentleman he was (and thus attentive of her maidenly sensibilities), he never took that off when they shared the bed. She lifted her head and saw the curve of a throat and the edge of a beard, darker than the golden hair spread open about his head. Her heart skipped a beat and then her eyes reached the face of the sleeping man.

Éomer was still fast asleep, and even her little gasp did not startle him. His arm was around her and its weight pushed her tight against him, so that there was not even a hair's width between them. His face, which was slightly turned towards her, seemed completely relaxed, and there was not the faintest shade of sadness or concern on his features. It was almost like seeing him as he might be in a fairer and less sorrowful world.

Lothíriel's mind was working fast now. She was weighing her options, and whether she should try to wake him up. It was one thing that they'd occasionally sleep in the same bed, but this... this was something else entirely. This was a whole new territory, the kind of which she had no map at all. This had not been agreed on when they had made up their plan to hide her.

However, looking at his sleeping face, Lothíriel knew he had not pulled her to him to invade her privacy. Most likely it was just an accident, maybe an old reflex, something he'd not have done had he been awake. She could trust him, she knew that much. He'd not take advantage of her, even if she had been inclined to allow it. And if she woke him up now and demanded him to let go of her, it would just be terribly embarrassing for them both.

But that was not all of it. To claim otherwise would have been a lie, and Lothíriel had enough of untruths in her life as it was. To put it simply was she felt _safe_ here. She was so secure with him so close, holding her... these warrior's arms made to shield and to protect.

And so, deciding the best she could was just sleep for a little while more, Lothíriel let out a small sigh. She let her muscles relax once more, settling down against the warm shape of her helper. Dawn was perhaps an hour away, but she could still get some rest, and it was very nice cradled in the warm embrace. Now that her mind was not racing anymore she realised it was a good place to be, and in moments her eyelids had become too heavy to keep open.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** And I return with a new chapter! I hope you enjoy it. :)

This is another big chapter, but moving stuff to next one did not seem like a thing to do. For one, I want to move things along, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who wants Éomer and Lothíriel to grow closer. ;) They are learning things about each other and becoming more and more intimate, but I have a feeling it may still take a while before either of them actually realise what this all means. I'd say they're both still too bent on future and the still unclear timing of Lothíriel's return home.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! Also big thanks for follows and favourites!

* * *

 **Anonymous -** :D Thank you! And here I was thinking my chapters are way too long!

 **Hobbitpony1 -** Yes, with three older brothers, one definitely has to learn to stand their ground! :D I'm glad you liked it. :)

 **Rinlossion -** Thank you for your comment. That little tidbit was to show Lothíriel _isn't_ an experienced fighter: like you pointed out, she does what a more knowledgeable person wouldn't. The point is she stands up for herself, even if she doesn't know how to fight properly. She's lucky enough to get out with some bruises instead of broken bones.

And you are right Athilda's grudge is a weakness, and she's being rather blind in her hatred towards Lothíriel/Daerien. But in my time I've observed that perfectly normal and smart people can become such fools just because of their irrational emotions, and Éomer doesn't realise that his response actually just feeds Athilda's hatred. Instead of trying to reason with her he just tells her to accept Lothíriel/Daerien, and Athilda isn't a person who can't easily be told to just do things.

 **Rachetg -** Thank you! :) Hope you enjoyed this chapter.

 **Rangella -** Glad to hear that! I feel there is quite a pressure on this story, and I want to deliver people's expectations. Hopefully you also like the parts in this chapter where they grow even closer. :)

 **Wondereye -** Yes, she did right in standing up for herself!

 **Almythea -** And here comes! :)

 **Rhiannon A. Christy -** I'm happy to deliver! :) Glad you liked it!

 **sailor68 -** Quite so! But the poor pair doesn't seem to be aware of what is happening to them...

 **Rubandepluie -** She definitely does! She may be shy and hide it sometimes, but she can be fierce as well, when she needs to.

 **Rinarwen -** It's good to see so many people appreciate Lothíriel's little moment of pride. Anyway, it's good to hear I managed to make such an impression! It was fun to write as well, though I admit not quite as fun as this chapter. ;) And knowing Éomer is this famous warrior and tough guy, his approval at her punching match is probably very important to her.

 **Wizzelf -** Thank you! Hope this chapter doesn't fail to deliver. :)

 **Talia119 -** Yes, I'm presently quite concerned about keeping things on the move. And what a better way to do so than some cuddling? :D

I actually have a feeling he won't have to do much more to keep Brithwen away from Lothíriel. As hurt and bitter Brithwen may be, I'd say she gets the message when delivered so forcibly, if you understand my meaning. In other words, Lothíriel standing up for herself like that would probably make Brithwen deem her "worthy", however grudgingly.

As for Éomer and Lothíriel growing closer together, I suppose this chapter should take a major step to that direction. But keep in mind Éomer is still a decent and honourable guy, and she's a princess of a great house. True, it would be more difficult for Denethor to get to her if she were married, but he could try some political ruse - for example, tell everyone it's not an abiding marriage, what with the lack of her family's approval and participation. And Éomer really doesn't want to go down that road, not yet at least.

 **malfoy lea -** Thank you for your review! The reason Éomer's reaction to her identity may seem like "nothing" is because, again, the dream/vision he had of her. I would say that has and still is impacting a lot of his thoughts and reactions. The mystery of why she appeared to him vexes him more than her being a princess.

Hopefully, the little bits here show at least something of what others thought about the confrontation. You're right - it probably did change how they see her, and it has likely made them come to their own conclusions as to why she's now with Éomer.

She's not perhaps using her full capabilities yet to aid him, but I think there's now movement to that direction!


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

They did not speak of that night afterwards. Though on the morrow Éomer had pulled away from her before she woke up fully or could see just how he reacted to having an attractive woman next to him in the morning, he could see in her eyes she knew what had happened. For the briefest second, he wondered if she'd raise hell for the horrible liberties he had taken with her while she was asleep and vulnerable, but the princess just smiled and wished him _"good morning",_ sounding like nothing much was out of the ordinary. So perhaps everything was all right indeed and it had just been two friends sharing warmth in the cold and lonely watches of the night. After all, hadn't she told him she missed human contact? Not that he expected she often cuddled with strange men back in Dol Amroth, but he pushed that thought quickly out of his mind.

And when upon taking his leave of her he planted the usual kiss on her brow, she lingered against him for a moment longer than was necessary, and he knew it was all right. In fact, for whatever reason, Éomer found himself to be on a fairly good mood even as he went on to attend to the labours of the day. Unsurprisingly, this did not escape the notice of Éothain.

"You must really like that girl", the captain commented when the two men were finishing planning their upcoming patrol to the eastern parts – they were thinking of making it a longer one, to scout the perilous borderlands for orcs that roamed the land all too often now, and so it would take more organising. Éomer looked at his friend with a slight lift of his eyebrows; Éothain knew him well enough to read the expression correctly. So, with a slight smile, he went on, "Well, why else would you be on a better mood than... Béma, I can't even remember the last time you actually were on such a good mood."

The Marshal did not say anything at first, mostly due to the fact he wasn't so sure of how to respond. He knew there was no fooling Éothain, not even if the captain hadn't known full well the dangers and the darkness they fought every time they rode out of Aldburg. Yes, he was not as grim as he were too often these days, but to assign this to _her?_ To be honest, such idea had not occurred to Éomer, not before now. But when he considered it, he did have to admit the truth: when in Lothíriel's presence, he had hard time remembering his cares.

"Aye, I do like her", he said at last. It was the truth, after all... he could not imagine why anyone would dislike her. How could one resent her, when she had the gift of bringing light and joy in the middle of the shadows that grew darker with each passing day? A smile threatened to rise to his face, but he kept his expression in check, and busied himself with gathering the maps on the desk.

"I must say, I did not see that one coming. As a matter of fact, I don't think anyone in Aldburg expected Brithwen would have to make way for someone like this stray maiden from the west", Éothain said then, making Éomer look at him sharply. Apparently something about his expression was alarming, because the captain hurried to speak again, "Forgive me. It's none of my business."

Éomer merely grunted as an answer and turned his back at the captain. Though he knew his friend had not meant to cause apprehension, the mention of Brithwen still reminded him of his regret. While he knew she was better off without him, that she deserved the chance of moving on, the manner of their parting was not a memory he cherished. More than anything, he wished he might have taken his leave of her with honesty... that she could have known the truth about why he had no choice but to end their affair. However, it was not his secret to share.

"Tell me, is the girl going to stay with us for long?" Éothain asked then, much to the aggravation of the other man. Usually, his captain did not ask questions like this.

"Why do you want to know?" Éomer asked back, unable to hold back his frown.

His friend's expression was a reconciling one, and he lifted his hand in a disarming gesture.

"Your business is your own, Éomer, and I'm not trying to pry. It's just... I've been wondering what is going on with you. I know, you don't want me to worry, but you're my friend and Marshal, and as your captain it's part of my job", he said carefully at length.

Once more the Marshal turned away, wondering what he should tell his friend. The idea of just spilling out the truth was tempting, but he knew better than to give in to that urge. Fewer the people who knew about the Princess, the safer she would be... it was not that he didn't trust Éothain – he merely feared what the truth might cause. Perhaps his captain would have hard time swallowing the tale of the stray princess, making him needlessly worry. Or, on the other hand, her true identity might make it difficult for Éothain to treat her as a serving maid. And if Éothain – or anyone for that matter – began to give hints she was a lady, the word would surely reach the ears of Wormtongue sooner or later. Théodred seemed to suspect as much, though the Prince had said nothing. The last Éomer had seen him, his cousin had asked if the rumours were true about him having a new mistress. The Marshal had confirmed it and Théodred said nothing more, though he did give the younger man a long, thoughtful look. Whatever the man made of this, Éomer could not guess.

"There is no need to be concerned, Éothain. Not about this, at least", he finally said, his voice firm but somewhat flat. "Daerien stays here, and it is a good thing that she does. That's all you need to know."

His captain looked at him silently for a while, but eventually the man nodded. The trust between them was strong, as it had always been.

"It's a pity, really..." Éothain muttered, half to himself it seemed. But Éomer caught the words nonetheless and he looked sharply at his friend.

"What's a pity?" he wanted to know. The captain frowned, realising he had let slip something he had not meant to say out loud.

"That she's not someone more... available", his friend said tentatively. When the man saw how he lifted one eyebrow, Éothain hurried to continue, "Available in the sense that something more permanent could be arranged between you and her."

"And what makes you suggest that?" Éomer asked, his voice more belligerent than he had intended – he already saw what Éothain had in mind, and he did not particularly appreciate this violation of his privacy.

"Well, you do like her a great deal. And I think she likes you too", said the captain, sounding now quite uncertain. Apparently, he had sensed this was not a good topic to entertain.

"Éothain, do I really need to listen to this? Go gossip with someone else, if you absolutely can't resist it", said the Marshal in tones that would not suffer more of this conversation.

"All right. I will shut up now", Éothain said, smiling weakly; true to his word, he said nothing more at the time. Éomer merely grunted as a response.

But though he would have liked to forget about his captain's inane comments as soon as the conversation was over, he was not quite so lucky. For after Éothain had left the study, the Marshal himself lingered behind – while his eyes followed the lines on the map, his mind was elsewhere. Blasted captain and his idle tongue! Had Scýne put the man up to the task? For one reason or the other, she seemed to think it was her duty to set him up with some agreeable maiden and start a family. In past, she had made some thinly veiled suggestions about him asking for Brithwen's hand in marriage. Sometimes, he wondered if it were some bizarre way of hers to try and make up for putting an end to his and Éothain's carefree carousing days.

Éomer couldn't help but snort, though he was alone. If only Scýne had known just how unavailable the girl who called herself Daerien was! As far as he knew, the princess was anxiously waiting for the day her father would call her home, and she could be shipped back to her city by the sea with as little noise as possible. He thought it was not infeasible: he'd choose some of his most trusted men and have them escort her as far as Mundburg. Perhaps one of her brothers could come there to pick her up, and the matter would be handled without any mention of Dol Amroth or the name of Prince Imrahil. As far as Éomer's own folk would know, Daerien had simply followed with her original plan of seeking a new life in the White City, and if she and her helper were careful, no one in Aldburg would ever know that a princess had been hiding under their very noses. As for what Lothíriel would tell her own people... well, he tried not to concern himself with it over much. There is only so much a man can worry about.

Suddenly, it occurred to him he did not look forward to it. True, it was exacting, having to lie every day and needing to keep in mind all times what a single slip might cause. And still... he did not want to imagine a day Lothíriel was not here anymore. He did not desire the time when she would not be standing at the doors of his home, smiling brightly as she welcomed him home.

He shook his head, reminding himself he had more important things to think of right now. After all, Lothíriel was not going anywhere any time soon. Fixing his mind on the tasks of today, he left the chamber – hoping to also leave the strange unquiet of his mind.

* * *

The Marshal's Hall was packed full.

It was not the first time Lothíriel saw a great deal of people in the hall, but now it seemed to her that the entire town of Aldburg had come and stuffed themselves inside. There were riders in armours, grandmothers who had seen more summers than one would care to count, ordinary craftsmen of various trades, maidens so fair one might imagine such existing only in songs, and even some who could only be of Rohirric nobility. But though they seemed to represent all levels of Rohan's society, they looked to fit in together astoundingly well, and among themselves they had companionable conversations.

The noise died, however, when there was movement at the other end of the hall. Lothíriel had to stretch her neck to see, which was not easy with the tall fair-haired riders. She saw Éomer arrive, surrounded by few of his men, and take seat before the hushed crowd. Instead of the armour, he was arrayed in green tunic – one of his better ones, she noticed – but he still carried a sword by his side. The man did not seem to feel right without a blade at hand's reach. Then again, he was a seasoned warrior and he must have been in many situations where his sword had been the only thing to guard his life.

She had been somewhat surprised to learn that as a Marshal, he was also responsible for distributing justice in his district. Back in Gondor, military leaders were strictly separated from the guardians of the law, though lords like her father usually held the ultimate authority in both matters. But Éomer did not have anyone under his command in charge of executing justice. She had to be careful when making questions about the system of justice in Rohan, as she did not want to betray being used to Gondorian traditions.

However, eventually she was able to form a comprehensive picture of how things worked in the land of the horselords, and she understood much of it was explained because Rohirrim were a people of warriors. In times before their relations with Gondor, it had been even more simplistic: one's authority would be measured by their prowess in battle. Only the bravest, the strongest riders could win favour with their lord, and he'd give them positions of power based on their deeds on the battlefield. Since then things had somewhat changed, as noble families had established themselves in the land, but some traditions were still very much alive. The importance of the Marshals of the Mark was one such thing, and they remained the King's closest lieutenants both in peace and war.

This was all quite fascinating, and so she had looked forward to seeing a Rohirric gathering of justice. Aengifu had explained that while the final word belonged to the Marshal, he usually listened to advice his most trusted men, his captain and steward among them, gave him. To herself, Lothíriel wished she could be taking notes of the event, so that she'd not forget the smallest detail – she was sure Father and Elphir would have loved to hear everything about what she was now witnessing.

The quiet came to an end when the Marshal spoke, officially beginning the gathering. His voice carried easily through the Hall, though the crowd was silent and listening keenly to his every word. Some of it Lothíriel understood, some she didn't, but Aengifu was happy to explain whenever necessary. The matters brought to Éomer's attention varied: there were squabbles over land and goods, an angry father whose daughter had eloped with a boy he didn't approve of, a woman who was asking for help against her abusive husband, and a pair of particularly argumentative siblings who couldn't find an agreement about the inheritance their father had left them.

Éomer lead the discussions calmly and firmly, but at times he'd lift his voice and speak sharply to get the quarrelsome parties back in line. Some matters were settled fairly easily, others took more of negotiation. And while most of the cases were not very sinister, there was one that made Lothíriel feel slightly uneasy.

A man was brought before the Marshal, his hands bound, and his unkempt appearance revealing he had been kept prisoner as of late. The moment he stepped before Éomer, she could see her helper's face become hard and stern.

"Who's that man?" she asked Aengifu in whispers. The other girl's expression was quite solemn.

"He killed his wife to get her considerable wealth to himself. When her brother came to confront him, he killed the poor lad as well", Aengifu said quietly.

"That's horrible", Lothíriel mumbled under her breath. "What will happen to him?"

"Death, most likely", her friend answered tonelessly, gazing at the villain with cold eyes. She glanced briefly at the other girl beside her, "Lord Éomer rarely shows mercy to men like him."

The exchange that followed was too fast for Lothíriel to follow, and anyway she was busy enough with troubled thoughts that came to her mind.

Those troubled thoughts were still with her that night, long after the court of justice had ended and people had gone their ways. It was one of the nights she spent in her friend's chambers, and she sat by the fire lost in her thoughts while he read some piece of parchment in preparation for the next day, when he'd ride for Edoras to participate the King's council. However, his concentration was not so absolute that he would not notice her mind was somewhere far.

"Is something amiss, Lothíriel?" he asked her as he took seat opposite her, the parchment still in his hand. His voice suddenly addressing to her had her jerking on her seat, and she blinked as she tried to get a hold of her erratic thoughts.

"I was just..." she started, seeking for right words. "I was wondering what it feels like to take a life."

Now it was Éomer's turn to blink. He stared at her as though this had been the very last thing he'd have expected her to ask.

"I don't know, really. Not anymore", he said at length, his eyes staring somewhere past her face. "Orcs are a plague on this world, and the more I kill them, the better."

"What about Dunlendings? They are Men, like us", she asked, looking at him intently.

"Aye, they are. But when they come to raid our homes, steal our horses and carry away our maidens, then there is only one response I can give", he said, and his voice was dark and grim. A shiver ran down her spine at the look in his eyes.

"And that man today? The one who had killed his wife?" she asked anyway, though her questions had already lost some of their intent.

"His greed caused the deaths of two innocents. Such cannot be tolerated", he stated firmly. But eventually his expression softened, and he searched her eyes as he asked in gentler tones, "What is it, really? What is on your mind?"

"I suppose I never really understood how simple and sheltered my life in Dol Amroth was. Had I known half the things I do now, I might never have dared to take this road", Lothíriel answered at length, though she still felt she could not quite put in words what strange mood was clouding her mind. Éomer looked like he might be impacted by it as well, but she shook her head and made another question, "Do you ever wish you could do something else? Be a farmer, for example?"

He shrugged and seemed to relax slightly.

"This is what I was born to be, like my father and his father before him. It's the only thing I know how to do", he said and leaned back in his chair.

"Are you ever scared?" she asked him. Where these questions were coming from, she no longer knew. However, her friend did not seem to mind to answer. It was strange and intimate, and she didn't she had ever really had such conversations with anybody. Well, her teachers had sometimes engaged her in complex ethical discussions, but those had never been very personal, and she had not exactly been treated as an equal. Between her and Éomer, however, there was such honesty and sense of balance as she had never felt before.

"Not for myself. It's always for my men and the horses... and for those we strive to protect", he replied slowly, turning his eyes to stare at the fire. She thought she saw something dark and terrible in his eyes, but then he shook his head slightly, and looked at her again. "And you, Lothiriel? Do you wish you had been born someone else?"

"Not before my uncle came up with his absurd plan to marry me off to some pirate", she said glumly. Then, as a lump rose to her throat, she went on, "Sometimes I wonder if there's ever going back to what used to be. At least, it's not going to be easy to explain why I'm still alive. Maybe I can't go home before I'm old and grey... when I left Dol Amroth, and I still had my knights with me, I thought it would be easy to just travel here, and that I would be called back soon enough."

"Surely your uncle would have changed his mind by now?" Éomer asked, his voice gentle now, and perhaps a little sad.

"I don't know. He can be terribly stubborn when he makes up his mind about something... and you see, he thinks I died, either by accident or by my own hand. He will be furious when I return home and he realises what my father and I did to avert his plan", Lothíriel said, grimacing at the idea of having to face her uncle's wrath.

"I wish I knew what to tell you, but I can't claim to know your uncle as you do, or what is the best way to tread with him... still, he must be a ruthless man to first try to force such a fate upon you and then punish you for rejecting it", said her friend. He was leaning his chin on the cup of his hand, which he had propped up on the armrest of his chair.

"That he is", Lothíriel sighed and pulled her knees against her chest, hugging them close.

"If it's any consolation, you are welcome to stay here as long as you need to", Éomer said then, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

"Even if I'm an old maid at the time I leave?" she asked him, not quite with the humour she had wanted to convey. Still, the horselord smiled.

"Aye. Even then."

* * *

 _August 3018, Edoras_

The strange thing about Meduseld was how dark it had become since... well, Éomer was not certain _when_ the courts of the King had grown so lightless. There was always that unnatural, brooding quiet, which had replaced laughter and noise. The very air seemed somehow tainted, as though somewhere in the Hall, a poisonous incense was ceaselessly burning and spreading choking vapours that robbed the light and filled one's mind with despairing thoughts. Often it felt more like a tomb than a dwelling of the living.

It had not always been so. Thinking of years of his childhood. before and after their parents had died, Éomer remembered Meduseld as a place full of light. Songs and lively voices had echoed about, the fresh air had breathed in from the doors, and Uncle's benevolent presence had shined in its core like the sun. There had been no shadows then, not in the court of his uncle; threats and dangers were located elsewhere entirely. The Golden Hall, being the very heart of the Riddermark, had seemed untouchable and unconquerable. However, at the time Éomer had not understood it could be taken _from inside._

And so, whenever he rode to the capital of horselords for councils and meetings with the King, Éomer felt apprehension and doubt. True, he did look forward to seeing his sister, and there was also an unarticulated sense of guilt for having to leave her in this nest of vipers. But what could he do? Éowyn was the head of the King's household and he could not just ask his sister to leave her duties.

Still and all, the second day of his stay in Edoras seemed to prove his sense of foreboding was not just paranoia. After most of the morning and early afternoon had passed in council meetings – much of which he spent arguing with Gríma Wormtongue – Éomer decided to make a quick visit to the markets of the capital to clear his head of the unpleasant atmosphere of the King's Hall. Lothíriel had mentioned her boots were almost falling apart, and it would not do to have her wander around Aldburg with bare feet. As she usually just kicked them off upon entering his rooms, he had a good idea of her size. And what pleased him was knowledge it would come as a surprise to her, as he did not think she was expecting him to replace her old shoes. Not to mention, he also wanted to take a look at what the saddle smiths were offering at the time, as he had been thinking of buying a new one some time soon.

On his way to a shoemaker's stall, Éomer and Éothain got caught in a large crowd that had gathered to watch a travelling minstrel perform in the centre of the marketplace. These days, less and less entertainers were coming to Edoras, which was no wonder: the roads were unsafe and idle hands were better used wielding swords and shields. But every now and then one or two specimen might arrive in the capital, and this did not surprise Éomer either. Though times were growing ever darker, songs were ever the lifeblood of Eorlingas' collective memory. And what would be a more important time to remember than days such as these?

Éothain grunted in frustration behind him, but Éomer kept quiet as he attempted to clear them way through the crowd. He was not particularly interested in listening to the tragic ballad the minstrel was currently wailing through, and his eyes were fixed on the other side of the marketplace, where he thought he could glimpse the shoemaker's wife bargaining about a pair of boots with a tall young rider. Éomer's unusual height was useful in such situations and was often made use of by Éothain, who was shorter than the Marshal. Éomer had long since stopped telling his captain he was not the man's personal watchtower.

They were halfway through the audience when a sudden movement at the corner of his eye alarmed Eomer. His instinct, trained and sharpened by years of war, was at work immediately, and he sidestepped with the result of colliding with a small elderly woman. She would probably have gone flying hadn't Éothain's ready hand been there to secure her, but Éomer was not paying attention to that now: he knew danger when he felt it.

As he turned, he saw a knife where his midriff had been only seconds ago. Of its wielder he could not say much – a non-descript cloak, a hood covering his face – but in truth he did not need to. For as his anger surfaced and the instinct for survival took over, Éomer knew exactly why this was happening, and just who had wished for his death.

He had the attacker's wrist captured in one quick motion. He and Éothain had practised for this – they had long since felt it might mean the difference between life and death – and so he had the hooded man in his vice-like grip. He twisted the man's arm and his opponent let out a howl of pain as the knife dropped from his hand.

"Tell Wormtongue he has to try a lot harder if he truly wants to kill me", Éomer growled, ready to take down the man when he suddenly produced another knife. With a curse, the Marshal let go and jumped back, lest he found steel between his ribs. Béma, why hadn't he put on his chain-mail before leaving Meduseld!

One moment was all it took. The hooded man was already melting back into the crowd, slipping away before Éothain could get to his lord, or Éomer could pick up the dropped knife.

"We didn't practice with two knives", he grunted under his breath to the older man. Around them, there were many wide eyes, and many voices already weaving tales of the little show-off they had just witnessed.

"Well", Éothain muttered, scanning the crowd though the both knew it was of no use to try to pursue the villain in this sea of people. There were just the two of them, and if the attacker was Rohir, all he needed to do was just pull down his hood, and he would blend right in. "At least you did not get hurt."

"He's getting bold. I need to warn Théodred... come along, Éothain. There's no time for shopping now", Éomer said, and the two men began to make their way back to Meduseld. If Wormtongue was now at point where he had no qualms about trying to assassinate one of Rohan's Marshals, then Éomer would have to be prepared... as well as it was possible. Much was in his responsibility, and not least of them was a young princess whose life could be used to tip the odds against the future of his people. If something should happen to him, then she would be exposed to many dangers. That could not come to pass, whether Éomer lived or died.

And he knew already there was only one person he could trust with her safety.

* * *

Being a Marshal of the Mark, Éomer often rode to Edoras to see his uncle and join the King's councils. During her time in Aldburg, Lothíriel had started to notice his mood was always different when heading for the capital, and it was pronouncedly so as of late. When she asked him if everything was all right, her friend shook his head and told her not to worry about it. However, in his household it was not quite possible to remain ignorant as to the reason for his less than delighted state of mind. Among the servants, she heard mutters about the worsening condition of Théoden King. He had grown frail and old, some even said feeble-minded, and he paid more heed to the words of his adviser Gríma than anyone else's. The common opinion of the said adviser was not very high, but Lothíriel would have guessed that as soon as she heard people call him "Wormtongue". She was not surprised to learn that apparently, Éomer considered this ill-named man his bitter enemy.

These whispers did indeed explain the troubled mood she would sense on his friend, but also the looks of concern she'd see on the faces of the folk of Aldburg. Lothíriel knew that though her father had not spoken it out loud, he had also hoped to deliver her further away from the shadow of the enemy... thinking lands to the West were safer in these perilous times. However, it was quite clear there was no such security in Rohan, and war was as much a reality in the land of the horselords as it was in Gondor. And if Théoden King was growing weak, unable to lead his people with strong hand... it was about the worst thing that could happen at such a time. As soon as she realised that, she understood why Éomer's mind would grow so grim whenever he visited Edoras.

Still, as long as he and Théodred remained the strong shields of Rohan, there was hope. That was what people said, and that was what she had faith in.

After all, she already did know the safety of being under his protection.

The night after he had returned from Edoras and she had joined him in his chambers, she spoke up in hopes of helping him to ease his mind. It was the least she could do now.

"Do you wish to talk about it?" she asked her friend when she was seated behind him and was starting with another back-rub – those had become something of a habit whenever he returned from his errands.

"Just some things with the council", Éomer muttered and she could feel him tensing under her hands. Lothíriel bit her lip, wishing to aid him to relieve his uneasy mind yet sensing how hard it was for him to open up about this.

"You know you can talk to me if there's ever anything..." she said, her voice trailing off as she found a particularly stiff spot in his left shoulder. He twitched and hissed a curse when she traced the tense vein, seeking to ease it off.

"Aye, but it's not something you need to be worrying about, Lothíriel", he told her firmly. He then glanced at her over his right shoulder, "But you should know that I talked with Éowyn. I told her about you."

"What!" she exclaimed, her hands working over his shoulders freezing where they were. "Why did you do that?"

The look on the face of her friend could only be described as dark, and it unnerved her greatly.

"Lothiriel, while I'm flattered by the trust you place in me, I must remind you that I'm not invincible. If anything should happen to me, you will need Éowyn's help to stay safe", Éomer said and turned his head again, while she sat still in the middle of stupor. She could only wonder what had happened to make him consider such an horrible outcome where he was dead... or to make preparations in case he did die.

"Nothing's going to happen to you", she said weakly, but her words made him scoff under his breath.

"I wish I could believe that too", Éomer said quietly, "but we can't leave it to chance. Only few days ago, when I was visiting the markets of Edoras with Éothain, a stranger attacked me and tried to stab me. I do not know who he was, but it's not hard to guess who had put him up the task. Wormtongue would love nothing better than see me dead."

"Éomer! Why didn't you tell me right away? Are you all right?" she demanded to know in fright. That anyone, even someone as powerful and sly as Wormtongue, would try to take Éomer's life in broad daylight...! Things were even worse than she had thought.

"It's fine – he did not harm me. However, it would be foolish not to be prepared now that we know what Wormtongue is ready to do", said her friend, his voice resentful when he mentioned his uncle's adviser. Then he sighed, and quietly muttered, "I must make sure you will be cared for if I don't..."

He didn't make it to the end of the sentence – she accidentally pressed the tight nerve hard enough to make him twitch and hiss again.

"Don't you think like that", she told him forcibly now, her kneading becoming vigorous again. "You'll come back to me, like you always do. I know you will."

He turned again to look at her, and his expression was as strange as the look in his eyes was keen. It felt like he was staring straight through her, and in embarrassment Lothíriel lowered her eyes. She swallowed and spoke before he could say anything to make her feel even more awkward, "What did your sister say?"

Éomer turned once more, for which she was thankful. She didn't think she could have endured the stare of those dark eyes much longer.

"She had hard time believing it... and then she told me I was taking too big a risk letting you stay. But Éowyn does understand why it's important no one finds out the truth about you. Eventually she agreed to help you, in case I... well, in case I'm indisposed", he said at length, his voice falling quiet again.

"So I take it she doesn't like me much. That's reassuring", Lothíriel muttered, forcibly rubbing one spot of his shoulder.

"It's nothing personal. She just doesn't like the idea of you being here", said her friend and let out a little moan, which made her smile somewhat smugly. Her magic was finally working.

When she was done, it looked like her friend was on a much better mood than before. Soon as he was on his feet, he bent his head to cup her cheek and kiss her brow, the way he often did – even when there was no one else around.

"You needn't be concerned, Lothíriel", he told her when he pulled back, resting his hand on her shoulder and smiling slightly, "I promised to keep you safe, and that is what I will do – no matter what happens."

She managed to give him a smile, but she did not speak out loud the question that was on her mind.

 _But who will keep you safe, my dear friend?_

* * *

In the dream, Aldburg was burning.

It was not a new nightmare – in times past, Éomer had often dreamt of his home on fire, blazing brilliantly while numberless lives were devoured in the flames. Of course such a dream would haunt him when his days were filled with so much care and concern for the many lives under his protection; and in his dreams, he'd vainly try to fight against the fire, even though he knew the attempts would not save the town or his people.

But tonight, it was different. He was not trying to save this already doomed settlement which had once been so beautiful; rather, he was looking for one particular person in the middle of devouring flames. His heart pounding, he was racing from door to door, looking for _her..._ he called her name in panic, _needing_ to see her safe and sound. Aldburg could burn to ground for all he cared, as long as _she_ was safe. Towns could be rebuilt, homes erected new, but her life was irreplaceable.

"Lothíriel!" he shouted from the top of his lungs, beyond caring who might hear. What did disguises matter if she were dead? He had promised to keep her safe, had reassured her she needn't be afraid of anything while she was with him... and how he had failed her!

He ran from door to door, throwing them open as he hastened, calling her name even though the smoke was burning his eyes and replacing the air in his lungs. Somewhere distant, he thought he could hear her answer, begging him to hurry...

She was still screaming when Éomer woke up with a gasp.

The air was cool and clear, and if he could smell smoke, it was only the faintest whiff from the dying embers in the fireplace. Night was blue and silver instead of red and black, he was in his own bed, and around him the Hall breathed quietly in slumber.

Slowly his mind calmed and Éomer turned on his side, breathing deeply. _Just a nightmare,_ he thought drowsily and felt relief so powerful it made him shake.

The last vestiges of terror left him when he heard her. There lay Lothíriel next to him, peaceful and quiet, puffing softly in her sleep. So he moved closer, wrapped one arm around her so that he could quickly grab her in case of fire, and went back to sleep.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** And I return with an update! Hope you like it, my dear readers. :)

We are moving slowly but surely, but I think we are getting there eventually. I at least am having a great deal of fun writing this, even with the occasional troubles with the characters and their whims. I think this chapter introduced Lothíriel deeper into the Rohirric culture, and also gave her an opportunity learn more about Éomer's character. Right now, they consider each other dear friends, but obviously something more is going on...

As always, thank you for your comments, and also for favourites and follows!

* * *

 **sailor68 -** Something's in the air indeed! We'll see how long it'll take for them to realise what's what. We're now at August 3018, so it's still a while before Théodred's death.

 **Crime of Passion'06 -** Thank you! I'm glad you enjoy this story. :) I don't really have a fixed schedule, but I try to update once or twice in a month. It depends on my other stories, but at least now I'm trying to finish _King and Lioness._ So maybe in the future this story will update more often.

 **malfoy lea -** I'm glad you liked it! I must admit I really enjoyed writing all that. What can I say - I'm a hopeless Éomer/Lothíriel shipper at heart!

 **Rinarwen -** That's good to hear! I do enjoy keeping my readers on their toes! :D Hopefully you'll keep enjoying this story.

Also I'm pleased to hear I managed to cause puddle-melting results! I do enjoy those myself very much. ;)

 **A -** Yes they are! But marriage may have to wait for a while yet. ;)

 **PadfootCc -** Thank you! :)

 **Rachetg -** I have a feeling his giving the necklace to her was not much of an emotional gesture, but you are right nonetheless - he does like her more than he even realises himself!

 **Madam X -** I hope this story keeps meeting your expectations!

 **coffeebookchiller -** Thank you for your kind words! I'm glad you like this story. :) We are getting to the realising their emotions parts, slowly but surely. Things are certainly more and more intimate between them.

 **Wondereye -** That is indeed an important factor in why they keep getting closer to each other.

 **Catspector -** Thank you! :)

 **Adimari -** Thank you so much for your review! It means a lot to me. Though I wonder if I should apologise for keeping you awake! :D

Keeping the characters and their emotions realistic is something I worry about a lot. I don't want to write the "bad guys" as black and white kind of type, but as people who have their own reasons and motiovations. And I think my readers will enjoy the story more if Éomer and Lothíriel aren't these perfect people, either. So it's good to hear you think I've managed to do these things! Hope you enjoy this new chapter.

 **Harmonii -** Thanks! They are indeed growing more and more comfortable with each other. No patrol injuries in this chapter - but we'll see! I tried to involve Théodred more in this chapter, but it just didn't turn out to my liking, so we'll have to do with the short reference in the beginning. I'm glad to hear people appreciate my lengthy chapters! :D

 **coecoe11 -** Thank you!

 **Anonymous -** I'm writing as fast as I can! Hope you like this new chapter. :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

 _Late August 3018, Aldburg_

"Would you fancy a ride today, Lothíriel?"

Éomer made the question on a early, bright morning of late August. Busy braiding her hair, Lothíriel looked up at him and saw the hopeful expression on his features. As it had been some time since she had last had a chance to go out riding – not to mention she had yet to do so with him – she quickly agreed. The Rohir smiled and promised to inform Athilda that Lothíriel would be unavailable for the morning. The chatelaine was unlikely to appreciate that, but she had been keeping her opinions to herself ever since the incident with the necklace.

So, after breakfast, Lothíriel made her way to the stables of the Hall. She had changed into a tunic and breeches borrowed from Saethryd – the other girl had readily lent them to her, grinning as she pushed the piece of clothing into her hands.

"Yes, _riding_ is very important. Go and gallop hard!" Saethryd had brightly said; Lothíriel felt her cheeks were still burning when she got outside, though she also wondered how it was even possible for her friend to make sound like half the things she said were some dirty joke.

The horses were already saddled when she got into the stables: there was her fiend's magnificent grey stallion, tossing his great head impatiently. Éomer flashed her a smile as he offered her the reins of a beautiful dappled mare with lively dark eyes. The princess felt secretly flattered; she knew this animal was a spirited one and he would not have chosen her for an unused rider. Though no words were spoken, to her it was a compliment that a horseman such as the Third Marshal of the Riddermark would have trust in her skills.

Once they were outside the walls of the town, Lothíriel threw a mischievous glance at the man riding by her side. He had tied back his hair and he was arrayed in a simple tunic and trousers, and he looked more handsome than he had any right. The way he occupied the saddle was unlike anything she had ever seen back in Dol Amroth – even her father's knights, trained to fight horseback, could not claim such natural grace. The man and the horse seemed to be so in tune, it was like Firefoot was following rather his master's thought than any gesture. Yet she knew how much control and experience went into it, as stallions were hardly the easiest steeds to handle.

"Can we race?" she asked him eagerly, itching to urge the mare into a fast gallop.

A smirk appeared on his face, making her mouth suddenly run dry – she had not seen such an expression before on those grave features. It made him look positively dangerous in a fashion that any female might recognise.

"I would love to, princess", he told her, unaware of her thoughts. Lothíriel shook her head and fixed her eyes ahead. The only reason her heart was racing so was the anticipation for a wild, hard gallop.

"On three?" he asked her, but she grinned at him.

"Catch me if you can!" she exclaimed, dug her heels into the sides of her mare, and shot ahead.

Sweet Elbereth and the numberless stars! Was there anything like flying across the plains, with wind in her face and hair, and feeling like her steed might just step into the sky, what with the intoxicating speed they were travelling? Laughter was bubbling up in her stomach and erupting from her lips just for the joy of living and of feeling so _free._ Had she ever ridden like this back in her home by the sea? Or shared this delight with someone like Éomer? When she glanced at him, following relentlessly, she could see he was enjoying this just as much as she did.

Eventually, her steed began to wear down and she let the mare slow her pace. She may be smaller and faster than Firefoot, but the Marshal's stallion had more stamina, and quickly he reached Lothíriel's side.

"Do you surrender?" he asked, smiling as he spoke. She couldn't remember ever seeing him looking as happy as he did now.

"Never!" she shot back with a grin as she reached to pat the neck of her mare as thanks for a wonderful ride.

Once they had cooled off their steeds, they found a small stream where to water the horses; there was also rich green grass growing, and they decided to let the animals rest for a bit before heading back to Aldburg. In fact, Lothíriel felt like she never wanted to return to the Hall. Couldn't they stay here under the bright sun, and sleep under the stars in some sheltered glade, and live on nothing but clear spring water and light?

In companionable silence they wandered the side of the stream, and she picked up some flowers that still lingered at this time, weaving some of them in her hair. Occasionally she'd glance at Éomer and smile slightly, wishing she might have told him how much she appreciated this. It was good to get away from Aldburg for a while and just forget the everyday cares of their lives.

"Does your father know about your prowess in riding?" her friend asked eventually, standing on a small mound as she crouched down to wash her hands in the stream.

"Well, he knows I'm fond of riding. But he did not approve at first when I started to train with a real saddle. It took some time to convince him, and I had to promise I would use a side-saddle in the public", she answered, cupping some water in her hands and drinking it. It was cool and fresh, as though the snow glimmering on the tops of the White Mountains.

"Hmm. A talent like yours is wasted with a side-saddle", Éomer stated and looked ahead over the stream.

"You must tell him that some time", Lothíriel said and looked down in the bubbling waters. What it would be like, going back home and telling her family about her time in Rohan? What would they say when they'd hear how she had made friends among the serving girls of the Marshal's Hall? And most of all, what would they think about Éomer? Surely they would want to meet him – she at least would love to introduce him to her father and brothers. With a smile, she thought of showing him around in Dol Amroth, introducing him to the more exotic foods the city had to offer, perhaps taking him sailing... she bit back a small giggle when she imagined how lost he would be on a ship. Then her mind turned to her father, and she wondered if he'd be very sad to hear about Éomund's death. A thought of her sire and family threatened to grow, but she wished it away. A day as beautiful as this one was not meant for sad thoughts.

"Tell him that his daughter rides like a madwoman?" Éomer asked innocently, his eyes wide while a smile tugged at his lips.

"If that's the standard in Rohan, then yes", she quipped back. Idly she dug her fingers through the bottom of the stream and picked up small stones, smoothed and polished by the ever-running waters. There were a few grey stones and one lovely red one; Aengifu loved to collect them and she already had a rather impressive amount.

"Dear princess, you exist in a standard of your own altogether", he teased her, giving her that infuriatingly attractive crooked smile. In a bout of... well, she didn't know what it was really, but she grabbed a handful of sand and minuscule stone in the bottom of the stream and threw a handful of it at him.

The wet heap hit him straight in the middle of his chest. Then the Rohir dropped on the ground as though one struck dead with a single blow.

"Éomer!" she exclaimed in alarm, shot up and ran to him. What had she done? She hadn't meant to harm him!

She fell on her knees next to him – he lay on his back, quiet and still. She reached for his shoulders to shake him... but then he moved, faster than one would ever have guessed when considering his sheer size. His hands, warm and large and unyielding, captured her wrists, and then she was pinned down to the grass. In a mixture of breathless shock and astonishment, she stared at the golden-haired man above her. She had never felt more vulnerable... or more excited.

"Caught you", he growled under his breath, his dark eyes holding her captive just as his body did. She couldn't answer, not even to tell him she was not amused by him startling her in such a way. For one reason or the other, words had got stuck in her throat. The only thing Lothíriel could do was lay still and gaze up at the man on the top of her, and she saw the exact moment the look in his eyes changed. The way he was staring at her... it was strange and intense and she thought she was going to start gasping any moment now. And she couldn't turn her eyes away or move. So she just waited for him to do something.

Suddenly Éomer leaned closer still, his breath brushing against her face, against her lips, hot and shallow; and for one second she was convinced he was going to kiss her – that he would make her his mistress for _real,_ right here in this glen. And she did not even know if she would want to stop him.

Then he blinked, as though one waking up from a dream. He pulled back as quickly as he had captured her, releasing her hands and withdrawing the weight of his body from hers. She blinked as well, only now becoming aware of how erratic her breathing had grown. What had just happened?

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to..." he muttered, looking away from her. He hadn't meant _what?_ To make her feel like he wanted her? Elbereth! Damn all the confusing males in the world! Not that she had much experience on them, but Lothíriel was convinced he was the most frustrating one to ever walk the earth.

"It's fine", she managed, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm down her racing heart. And there it was again, that peculiar feeling deep in her stomach, demanding for... well, she didn't exactly dare to think of _that._ She just knew it had a tendency of appearing whenever Éomer got too close. Just now, he had been _dangerously_ so.

Lothíriel cleared her throat and clumsily got up on her feet. When had her knees become so wobbly?

"Shall we head back?" she asked him, not daring to look at him directly. He didn't seem keen on meeting her eyes, either, but he did grunt in what sounded like an agreement.

In silence they got back to their horses, which were now ready for another race. But as they galloped back towards Aldburg, the earlier abandon was entirely gone. She did not laugh anymore, and he was not smiling the way he had before. As a troubled feeling grew in Lothíriel's heart, she wondered if she had done something wrong, and if he were angry with her. But even if she would have liked to ask these questions out loud, something held her tongue, and she remained silent all the way back to Aldburg.

 _My dear friend, what is happening to us?_

* * *

He was such a hopeless idiot.

When Princess Lothíriel had first revealed her identity to Éomer, he had been sure it was both possible to keep her secret and retain a degree of propriety in their relationship. He had not foreseen a friendship blossoming between them, and he certainly had not guessed that she might catch his eye in a wholly improper fashion. Altogether he had thought – he had hoped – that her high status would be a protection enough against his baser urges. Not to mention, the young woman was quite different from the lasses he usually dallied with; she was soft-spoken and sophisticated, her hair dark and straight instead of a wild mass of golden curls, and her skin fairer than the glowing tan of Rohirric maidens. She did not possess a foul mouth or loud voice, and most likely she had been taught to fear and reject the earthy desires of mortal Men.

And yet, when he had so shortsightedly grabbed her wrists and pinned her to the ground, he had seen how her eyes had darkened, just as his own must have. Whatever she had been taught back in Gondor, her body seemed to know what was what. Lothíriel had not been afraid of him, though his playful gesture had become something else entirely in a matter of seconds. That moment he had wanted her so badly that he nearly kissed her... and a stubborn little voice at the back of his head kept telling him she would have liked it. That vision of her, laying under him on the ground, dark strands of hair that had escaped from her braid and spread around in green blades of grass, and her lips parted invitingly as she waited for him to make the move... he knew it would haunt him mercilessly.

But desire was just desire, and he had to keep himself in line. She was a princess and she deserved his respect, and damn whatever urges his wilder nature came up with. Prince Imrahil had trusted him – well, his father, really – with her well-being, and to compromise that would be terribly unwise. He would do well to keep his distance from her.

Yet this proved to be even more difficult than he could ever have guessed. After their ill-fated ride, Éomer grew to think that stupid move he had made had awakened something, almost as though some veil had been lifted from his eyes. Now his eyes followed her in a way unlike ever before, always craving for more. Deep inside, there was a writhing sensation when he'd see her seated on the edge of his bed, and she hummed under her breath as she combed her long, shiny hair. There was the way she would tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, or how she'd absent-mindedly roll her lips over her teeth when she was focused on something. Béma, how he wanted to go and claim those damned lips in a kiss! Even something as innocent as her toying with the end of her braid had him transfixed, staring at her nimble fingers and imagining how their caress might feel like. It was maddening, like a sickness gnawing at his insides. But he had known lust before, and though it had a way of leaving a man frustrated and needy, or even drive him to reckless actions, he could bend it to his will.

After all, Lothíriel _was_ his friend, and his wish for her well-being was much more powerful than any bodily craving. And he would never compromise her future for the sake of his own pleasure.

* * *

 _Late September 3018, East Emnet_

Nights on the plains could be so quiet, one might have thought no other living thing existed in the world. The wind had died and the land was in slumber, peaceful as though there was no such thing as war. Éomer liked the clearer nights when the moon made all things luminous, but the warrior in him preferred the dark and overcast weather. That made it easier for his éored to blend into the landscape. Being attacked during the night was not the way he wanted to go.

He and his men had been riding for almost a week now, patrolling the lands and chasing after a rumour of some orcs, though they had yet to find any. Those beasts had been quiet as of late, but Éomer did not trust this silence. The thing about orcs was they always came back, sooner or later. And if he knew anything, a moment of quiet usually predicted some sort of onslaught of violence. He just hoped he could be there when it happened, and show the enemy what he thought about it.

As so often these days, he was not feeling particularly sociable or talkative, and so he did not join a group of his riders by the small fire. Even so, he did not exactly miss their conversations, though he was seated some feet away from the company, honing his dagger. They were talking about their sweethearts back in Aldburg; clearly this bunch had been too long on the road and were missing their lady loves. Not that Éomer did not understand this – he knew all too well how riding patrols for many days would impact the workings of a male mind. And honestly he could not say he was immune to it.

"What about you, Marshal? How's your little serving maid?" he was suddenly asked, and Éomer looked up with some surprise. He couldn't remember the last time the lads had actually made these sort of questions to him, and especially not while he was with Brithwen – probably because they had thought she would have his balls if he shared anything private. Well, maybe this had been inevitable, now that Brithwen was gone. Lothíriel – or Daerien – was rather different from the Shieldmaiden.

"Does she keep you happy?" came another question, which was followed by a low rumble of laughter. He had to hold back his snort: if these buggers knew most there had been was cuddling...!

"She's a whole lot better company than you trolls", he informed them wryly, rolling his eyes. "And that's all you need to know about Daerien."

Each of the young riders looked like they were deliberating how to persuade him to talk, until Folcred spoke up, "At least tell us what she's like. One doesn't get to meet lasses of the West very often."

That was something he could answer. Éomer thought for a moment how to put into words all that was her, the soft-hearted princess who also had bravery to rival the most courageous Riders, and had endured so much since coming to the Mark without complaining. But there was something _pure_ about her as well, something good and untainted. And yet... he knew there was vulnerability and sadness: only the other night he had woken up to her crying in her sleep, and when he had shaken her awake, she had stammered something about her father. Her sobs had only died when he had pulled her close and rubbed her back, mumbling comforting things until she fell asleep again. Really, how could one person hold so much and be so much?

"She's bright and innocent and wise. And stronger than you could ever guess", he simply said at last, turning his eyes away from the curious faces. He had a feeling they might see something on his features he did not wish to show.

"So she does keep you rather happy. Good to know", Folcred said, grinning shamelessly. Éomer decided his words did not warrant other answer than a scoff.

But to himself, he felt everything but light-hearted. There, he had put it in words, the way he had not until now. _And it's lot more than you would expect from someone in lust, isn't it?_ asked an annoying little voice at the back of his head.

Sometimes he just hated that little voice.

* * *

 _October 3018, Aldburg_

The Marshal and his riders were speeding for home once more.

They had been away for almost three weeks: first riding patrols in north-eastern parts, and then a few days in Edoras so that Éomer could take part in his uncle's councils. In vain, he had tried to talk to his uncle of hiswishes of either sending more men to guard the perilous borderlands or evacuating the villages more exposed to the orc attacks. However, much to his bitter resentment, Wormtongue had thwarted most of Éomer's arguments with sly and cunning words. Somehow, the hateful man had convinced not only the King but also rest of the council with the exception of Théodred that Éomer's demands were merely rantings of a paranoid warmonger.

Only due to Éowyn's numerous warnings had he been able to keep calm at the face of such ridiculous statements, and upon his departure, he had been on a foul mood. His men had sensed it and so left him alone for the journey home. Yet even though the meeting in Edoras had caused him considerable headache and anger, Éomer still felt the slight lifting of his mood when his éored began to approach Aldburg.

So he let Firefoot set the space, and the stallion raced ahead, bringing his master closer to the seat of Eofor. For all the dangers of the road, and all the helpless fury caused by Wormtongue, there was at least one thing waiting for him that was entirely without dark doubts. When he thought of seeing Lothíriel, and how happily she always welcomed him back, he could not help but smile to himself. His smile spread ever so slightly when he thought of what was neatly wrapped in his saddlebag, ready to be presented to his Amrothian friend. He rather liked it when he could make her smile with some pleasant surprise. So he made a point of giving her small gifts every now and then – nothing like the necklace, as he had seen how uncomfortable she had felt receiving it – but simpler things that he hoped would bring comfort to her daily life. A new pair of stockings to keep her feet warm, a bar of fine soap that smelled of flowers, a night shift with green embroideries... this time, he had found her a lovely wooden comb, a beautiful piece decorated with carved flowers. He hoped it would please her, though she must have much more lavish things back in her home by the sea. Then again, she had been very modest from the start, and he had never heard her complain after the luxuries she must have left behind in coming to the Riddermark.

The company passed through the town, greeting friends and family as they headed for the Marshal's Hall. In the courtyard, all was ready for their arrival: the guards had seen them approaching for afar, and stablemen and servants of the household were standing by, like a well-oiled machine about to spring to action. Éomer glanced around, his eyes scanning the courtyard and taking in much at once as a warrior would, but he did not see Lothíriel anywhere. Usually, when he had been away, she would come to at least greet him briefly before they both went on to their separate tasks. He did not know what had been her reason to start with the habit of welcoming him back, but he rather liked it.

 _Perhaps Athilda has her busy with something,_ Éomer thought to himself as he dismounted and left Firefoot in the hands of his esquire, a young lad of the name of Leohtir. When his men had their orders, the Marshal turned for the Hall, thinking of all the duties he still had to take care of before the day was done.

As he was striding for the twin doors of his hall, his eyes fell on the face of a serving maid – one of the girls Lothíriel had befriended, and he remembered her name was Aengifu. The troubled expression on her face instantly caught his attention. She was staring right at him and looking like she desperately wanted to speak to him.

"What is it, lass? Is something amiss?" Éomer asked her, stopping to regard her.

"My lord, it's Daerien. She... she's very sick", Aengifu said, and the impact of her words was immediate: he felt like someone had punched him in the guts.

"What's wrong with her?" he demanded to know, his voice sharp and stern despite the ill sensation inside him.

"She has fever, my lord", said the serving maid, sounding like she did not exactly know what was ailing her friend.

Éomer was alraedy striding inside, and he was heading for his own chambers, where he expected her to be. But before he had even entered the Hall, Aengifu was grabbing his hand.

"She's in our room, my lord. Derehild is with her... she said I need to get a healer, but Athilda was -" the girl explained, but he did not allow her to finish.

"I will take care of it", he simply said and changed his course, now hurrying for the servants' quarters. The maid came running by his heels, but for the moment Éomer was solely concentrated on getting to Lothíriel.

He burst into the small chamber Lothiriel shared with three other girls. Air was stuffy there, hitting against his face like a wall after the fresh autumn winds from the plains. Next to the wall, where was his princess' bedroll, Derehild was leaning over a shape hidden beneath blankets. However, at his arrival, the girl let out a startled gasp and fell to sit on the floor.

"My lord!" she said in alarm, but he paid her no heed, not beyond pushing her gently aside to make himself space next to the bedroll.

The sudden commotion had not caused the faintest shift in the young woman who lay on the bedroll, or at least Eomer could not see any such thing. Her face was aglow with fever, her hair was damp with sweat and glued against her head, and her lips were flaked. When Eomer touched his slightly trembling hand to her cheek, he could feel her skin was burning up.

"When did she get sick?" he asked, and somehow, even to his own surprise, he was able to speak calmly and steadily.

"She has been coughing for days... but yesterday she started to feel weak and light-headed. Athilda said she was just trying to get a pass from work, but when Daerien collapsed this morning, even that old witch could not deny she's sick", Aengifu answered in a low voice.

"And what does the healer say?" he demanded, carefully snaking his arms under the limp form of the princess. She did not react to being lifted from the bedroll, and her head slumped against his shoulder.

"Athilda said it was a waste of time", Derehild muttered, making Éomer growl under his breath. Would the chatelaine ever stop testing his patience? Hadn't he told her clearly and seriously to leave Lothíriel alone?

"Her nonsense is a waste of time", he said angrily, lifting himself and Lothíriel up. He threw a glare at Aengifu. "Go and get that damn healer now! If there is any more complaining, tell them it's my orders."

"Right away, lord", said the serving maid, and she left the chamber running. Meanwhile, Éomer was securing his precious burden in his lap, and then he strode out – Derehild helpfully held the door open for him. Lothíriel's head lolled on his shoulder and she appeared to have no clue about being moved. Béma, just how sick was she?

With his fast pace, it did not take long to get to his own chambers, where he told Derehild to get back to work. In the bedchamber Éomer brought the princess to his bed and wrapped blankets around her, to keep her warm. Fortunately, someone had left a pitcher of water by the basin, and he quickly found a handkerchief – hers, forgotten here at some point – which he watered and then placed against her burning skin to relieve the temperature. Lothíriel remained still and quiet.

The healer of his household, a man named Master Heregils arrived in less than ten minutes, trailed by the worried-looking Aengifu, but though the time was moderately brief, it still felt unbearably long. Éomer was even less pleased when Heregils ushered him and the serving maid outside the bedchamber. He desperately wanted to do something and his hands twitched, as though he could somehow have used his fighting skills to aid his princess. But how helpless was even the strongest warrior against something like this!

"I'm sure she'll be fine, my lord", Aengifu said tentatively, having sensed his mood. Well, one would have to be blind and deaf not to notice his unease.

"If she will, it won't be thanks to Athilda", he said grimly, turning his eyes away. _Or thanks to me._

The girl looked unsurely at him, biting her lip. He wondered what caused that hesitation... surely he was not such an intimidating master? Éomer lifted his eyebrows and looked inquisitively at her, and she picked up his meaning right away.

"She misses her home and family very much. Maybe that's why she got sick", Aengifu offered carefully. He frowned at her, and seeing his reaction she flinched, taking a step back. "Forgive me, my lord. It is not my place to say these things."

"Indeed", he said and sighed, running a hand through his hair as he turned away from the girl. "Go and get me Athilda. I need to talk to her."

Aengifu curtsied and then exited, leaving Éomer alone to wait for Heregils' assessment. To give himself something to do, he concentrated on undressing his armour, though all through that task his eyes kept glancing towards the door of the bedchamber.

Athilda arrived before the healer was done, knocking at his door and entering as he called her inside. Judging by the expression on her face, she already knew what he had in mind.

Éomer took a deep breath and looked straight at her. He knew he'd have to hold his temper in check, even though he would have loved nothing more than unleash at least some of the storm inside him on this woman. He knew Athilda well enough to understand she would not react well to him shouting his head off at her.

"Do tell, Athilda, what did possess you to think it would be fine to make someone who is obviously very sick to work until she collapses?" he asked her very steadily and calmly, though behind it his anger burned hotly.

"My lord, I believed she was pretending to be sick in order to get a day off", she answered coolly and crossed her arms on her chest.

"Were you blind, then?" he asked, slightly sharper now, and definitely argumentative.

Athilda pursed her lips.

"My lord, you know the duties of the chatelaine keep me quite busy. I have no time to coddle and inspect every case of fever", she simply stated, and he felt the intense urge to shake the stubborn woman. How could she cling to her grudge so tightly?

"Apparently they have made you so busy that you have forgotten the most important one: seeing to the well-being of those under your command!" he snapped, taking a step towards the ill-tempered woman and glaring at her in growing fury. If Lothíriel did not get better... if something happened to her because of Athilda's neglect...

"My apologies, lord", the chatelaine said and fell silent once more.

"I happen to care about her life and welfare a great deal, Athilda. I had thought this was clear to you, even despite your senseless grudge against her. If she does not make it, that is on _you._ Can you live with yourself, knowing that in your blind hatred, you caused the death of an innocent who never harmed you in any way?" he asked her angrily, hardly noticing how his voice rose in anger. If he were not careful, he would be shouting in a matter of seconds.

It looked like some colour went from Athilda's face, but her expression did not change, and she said nothing. Éomer took yet another deep breath in order to calm down.

"I've had enough of your disobedience, Athilda. If Daerien does not live, you will pack your bags and leave my hall for good, and you may consider yourself lucky to leave here with your life. In fact, even if she gets better, I will not tolerate more of this from you. If I see any more abuse from you towards her, then you may consider your career as my chatelaine finished. Is this understood?" he asked her so coldly that it might even surpass her capability of iciness.

"Absolutely, my lord", Athilda said, still showing no emotion. "Is that all?"

"Aye. You may go", he said to her, feeling weary all of a sudden. Though he now felt Athilda understood exactly what was expected of her, he did not feel particularly pleased or relieved. He may have forced his chatelaine in line for the time being, but he knew it was not likely to make her warm up in regard to Lothíriel... he could only hope this exchange would not result in harm for his princess.

By the time Master Heregils did make appearance again, Éomer was pacing back and forth, all but ready to barge in to demand for answers.

The healer's face was serious when he opened the door, instantly dampening the tiny hopeful thoughts the Marshal had dared to entertain.

"Well? How is she?" he asked, fighting to keep calm.

"She is very ill, my lord, and her fever is high. This should have been treated much earlier... I'm afraid the sickness is trying to take a hold of her lungs, and if that happens, then we must prepare for the worst", came the answer, and it nailed Éomer where he stood. Suddenly, he felt like mountain had fallen on his shoulders and it was nearly too much to bear.

 _A sickness in the lungs._ Wasn't that what had taken the life of his mother? What bitter irony it would have been, to watch yet another woman wither away before his eyes... _Lothíriel is not like her, she_ wants _to live, she wouldn't just..._

"Can't you give her medicines? Isn't there anything you can do?" he demanded to know, his nails digging into the calloused skin of his palms.

"There are some herbs that may help to bring down the fever, but the rest depends on her now. I will not lie – her condition is very weak. But if she's strong, she may pull through it", Heregils answered, and his words felt like yet another punch that Éomer did not see coming.

He paid no more heed to the man. Instead, the Marshal wandered into the bedchamber and to the side of the bed like a sleepwalker might. Feeling dazed, he pulled himself a chair and more or less collapsed on it to sit next to her. Lothíriel was still dead to the world, her face glowing with the high fever.

Had he ever felt such helpless despair? On battlefield, he knew what to do, even in some very tight spots. He could not recall ever being particularly afraid when he was fighting. However in a sickroom, he was entirely useless. And it was not made any easier by the knowledge that he was not faultless in this. True, Athilda perhaps had a part in why Lothíriel was so sick now. But he could not deny he was to be blamed as well: he should have guarded her better, and most of all he should have put an end to the chatelaine's mistreatment the moment she had first spoken against this guiltless young woman, nevermind Lothíriel's objections. He should have been stricter, should have... should have...

Fighting against the bitter taste in his mouth, he reached to bathe her skin with a cool, damp cloth. Yes, he could have ordered someone else to do this, but Éomer found he did not want to. He had promised to protect her and he had partly caused her current ailment – this was the least he could do for her. And what if the healer's worst fears came to pass? What if Lothíriel did die here, not as a victim of some vicious ploy by Wormtongue, but because her guardian was a hapless fool? No doubt Prince Imrahil would declare war on Rohan... the world of Men would burn at the very time they should have been standing together. Perhaps he should seek exile and never return – a shameful excuse of a Marshal who could not even keep safe one life trusted into his care.

And even if she survived now, this all would just add to what could only be a long list of sufferings. Eventually Lothíriel would go home, full of resentful tales of how she had been mistreated and humiliated in this land. Most likely she'd never want to think of Rohan again, or him, and abhor every mention that brought back memories. But when she'd go, and even if she never thought of him again, he would miss her... Béma, he would miss her madly.

It was in that moment, when Éomer sat beside Lothíriel as she lay in feverish slumber, that the long overdue realisation finally hit him: he loved her. That was why he so looked forward to seeing her, why the moments he was with her were those few he could feel unburdened, and why his hands itched to touch and hold her every time she was close. That was the reason he could not take his eyes off of her, and why even her smallest gestures held him bewitched. Oh, how he had tried to deny it, assigning his reactions and thoughts merely to the desire he felt for her, but truth was so much more. Truth was, he had never felt about a woman as he felt about this sick maiden laying in his bed. He loved this poor, brave princess with all his heart and he never wanted her to leave. He wished no more just for her friendship – he wanted to know her as a companion, as a lover, as a _wife._

However, he was certain this yearning was not answered on her part at all. How could it be, when day and night she missed her home, her true life as a princess of a great line? He could not possibly pretend he or what he could offer bore any resemblance to the things she knew and desired. He was first a soldier and only then a lord, and even as a lord Éomer knew he was different to noble Gondorian men as day is to night. He could not give her the sea, or a palace by its shore, or a promise of future without war – all he had were windy plains, a pair of hard hands, and a hall that was perhaps adequate to a daughter of the Mark but not to a princess of the race of Westernesse. And if Prince Imrahil knew how he adored this bright maiden... the man would laugh himself silly.

Béma, why had the fates brought her to him and ignited this fire in his chest when it was clear _this_ could never be? Princesses did not love or marry barbarians, and men like him were not meant for happiness. And yet he wanted it – wanted _her –_ so badly that it might drive him insane.

With a weary sigh, he leaned his head against one hand and closed his eyes. What he desired did not matter – only that she got better, that she was safe. If she lived through this and had one good thought for him at the end of it, then that was more than enough.

It _had_ to be enough.

* * *

She was dreaming.

It was the strangest dream she had ever had, because it seemed to be straddling a thin line between a nightmare and a vision so sweet only sleep could summon such. A man with golden hair, his face so sad that she ached for him... there was a dull pounding of pain inside her skull, and yet a lovely sound was piercing through the haze about her... someone was singing by her side, their voice soft and low and rich. The tune was a melancholy one, somehow complimenting the sound of Rohirric; it was simple but fair, and it was delivered more sincerely than any flowery, romantic poem she had ever read back in Gondor.

" _Black is the colour of my true love's hair  
Her lips are like some roses fair  
She's the sweetest smile  
And the gentlest hands  
I love the ground whereon she stands..."_

A hand came to rest against her cheek, calloused fingers lovingly tracing her skin. Lothíriel did not dare to move for the fear that the hand's owner might draw it back, though more than anything she wanted to turn her face so that she might plant a kiss against those fingers. She stayed still at any rate, basking in this strange moment when her body was so weak but her thoughts shined so brightly.

And she never wanted him to leave.

It was dark when she came around again, and only the dying embers in the fireplace and a candle by the bed gave some illumination to shadows. Lothíriel felt disoriented at first, her head was heavy, and she was seriously tempted to go back to sleep. She had no memory of drifting off, but that didn't seem to matter.

But then her eyes, blinking with the weariness that was still on her, fell on to the side of the bed. There she saw someone slumped, leaning their head against their arms, which rested on the bed. She knew him of course – how many times had her eyes sought for him in the crowd, or perhaps just by the fire, and watched how the light danced and shined in his bright hair? Before coming to Rohan, she had heard tales about people inhabiting these lands, about their wild ways and their golden manes. Yet none of the stories had said how beautiful it could be...

Tiredly she wondered if she should wake him up and tell him to get in the bed. Surely Éomer should not be spending his night in a chair, especially when these were his rooms and she was just a guest here, albeit a sick one. However, he looked so peaceful that she dared not disturb him. She could not deny him his rest, not when she knew how full of care his days were.

So Lothíriel turned on her side to face him, placed her hand on his, and returned to sleep... calm in the knowledge that she could trust him to watch over her.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Here's a new chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. :)

I admit this was not an easy chapter to write, and I've revised it a few times. Though some parts of it were incredibly entertaining to write, it's still not exactly how I wanted it to be, but this will have to do.

As it often does, the fear of loss is what makes Éomer realise his feelings for Lothíriel. I hope it doesn't seem too abrupt; then again, his feelings for her have been growing for a while now, though for a moment he was convinced it was just desire. He would certainly have liked it to be nothing more than lust, because as you know, Éomer of ALWR doesn't exactly want to fall in love. Maybe we'll see more of his musings on that in the upcoming chapter/s. As for when Lothíriel might come to realise there's more between them than just friendship... well, wait and see. :)

The song Éomer sings by Lothíriel's bedside is called "Black Is the Colour". If you follow me at tumblr, you will know that I've had bit of a thing for this song as of late. It's a traditional folk song and I immediately fell in love with it when I found it online. If you want to listen to the song, I recommend trying the version by Christy Moore, which you can find at least on Youtube.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! It means a lot to me. :)

* * *

 **littlerock77 -** If I could write faster, I would! I know how it feels like to be hooked on a story that intrigues you. Anyway, I'm glad you like this! :)

 **Rubandepluie -** That is very right! She hit closer to home than she even realises yet!

 **Madam X -** Thank you! I do my best. :) Hope you liked this chapter and the bit where Éomer realises what he feels for Lothíriel. :)

 **A -** Here comes!

 **AngusH -** Thank you! I'm happy to hear you enjoy this. :) We'll see how things go for them!

 **Rhiannon A. Christy -** Cuddling is always good, accidental or not! Anyway, at least now he knows what is happening to him - we'll see how that will impact their relationship in the coming chapters. :)

 **Anonymous -** *blushes* That is quite the compliment, and I heartily thank you for it! Hopefully this chapter won't disappoint!

 **Talia119 -** Good to have you back again! I hope you like this little headway in this chapter - Éomer being aware of what he feels for Lothíriel should complicate things a little bit. :) At the very least, the touching may be a great deal less innocent now!

 **Wondereye -** That is good to hear! :)

 **sailor68 -** I write as fast as I can!

 **laure -** Thank you! We are getting there - eventually! ;)

 **Adimari -** Thank you for another lovely comment! It is greatly appreciated. :) And it's good to hear I've been able to develop as a writer. I'm sometimes a bit self-conscious about that. Anyway, I hope Éomer's realisation in this chapter doesn't come too abruptly to you, but on the other hand I thought it was high time for that. And I must admit I kind of wanted to get to write about him being lovesick and pining away. ;)

I was indeed working on the Grimm brothers version of the fairy tale - I had not heard about the French one, but it sounds intriguing and quite dark and mature actually. So if you were reminded of that version, I must say it was accidental on my part. But now I will have to check that out! Originally, this story followed the story of "The Goose Girl" more closely, but it was not working out very well, and I ended up changing a lot of things. Anyway, it is the basic idea behind ALWR.

And don't worry about writing a too long review - from my point of view, no review is ever too long!

 **Rachetg -** Éowyn does not really dislike Lothíriel. She's just worried about her brother, and she fears that Lothíriel's presence will cause him harm and trouble. Personally, she has nothing against her.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Someone had stuffed her head full of cotton – or so Lothíriel guessed from how heavy and unpleasant it felt inside her skull. There was a dull ache as well, throbbing away merrily as though there was a determined dwarf mining his way through her brain. At least it was not as bad as before, when...

Her line of thought came to a halt. What was the time? Where was she? And what exactly had happened? Try as she might, Lothíriel found her memories hazy and disoriented, and all she could recall was the sight of Athilda's nostrils growing white when she had tried to ask for a day off. Slowly, as she lay still and struggled to remember back, she also noted her throat was not burning so badly anymore, either. Yes, that was another very clear memory: the feeling of fire spreading in her chest every time she coughed. Elbereth, she must have been very sick. Probably still was, considering how weak and tired she felt.

Lothíriel shifted on where she lay, and almost immediately she heard a voice speaking: "Daerien?"

The princess opened her eyes, somewhat reluctantly, and saw the face of Aengifu next to her. The girl looked concerned at first, but then smiled slightly.

"There you are. How do you feel? Here, have a drink – you must be thirsty", she said quickly, giving Lothíriel no chance to say anything or to protest. Then again, she quite appreciated it – her mouth seemed to have become a desert since she had last been awake.

Aengifu helped her with two full cups before she was satisfied, and fresh water did make the patient feel slightly better, by which time she had also noted she was in Éomer's bed. She had no recollection of being moved from her bedroll, and wondered if he had been the one to bring her here. But before she could think of that any more, the serving maid placed the palm of her hand against Lothíriel's forehead to check her temperature, and then smiled.

"Your skin is not burning up so much anymore. Aye, I do think you are out of the woods. Lord Éomer will be delighted to hear that", she said, nodding briskly at her own words.

"He's home? Where is he?" Lothíriel asked unsurely, glancing about as though he might appear any moment. With the mention of her friend, her heart made a small misstep; she had this vague memory of having dreamt of him while she had lain in feverish slumber. Had he been singing to her? There seemed to be such a recollection, but now she was not so sure if it had been a dream or not... try as she might to remember the words of the song, she could not. She could only call back the sound of his voice, soft and sad and full of yearning.

"He had to go and take care of some business... he seemed to be very busy. The minute he came home yesterday and heard you're sick, he refused to leave your side, postponing all his other duties. Apparently he sat the entire night watching over you. But he had to much to attend to this morning, and so he told me to stay with you", Aengifu explained seriously. But as she went on, a teasing little smile appeared on her face, "I think he really likes you, Daerien. Maybe even more than likes you."

The princess did not know what to say, and so she looked away from the face of her friend. Perhaps that was how it would seem to Aengifu, or any who did not know the truth... but she could guess what was the real reason behind Éomer spending the night watching over her. He knew who she was in truth, and what her dying in this land would mean. It was foolish to expect more than that... and why should she, anyway? Even her memory of him singing was probably something her sickened mind had just made up.

"I suppose", she managed at last. She didn't know what Aengifu made of her response, and did not dare to ask.

In any case, the other girl patted her hand and stood up.

"Just rest, my friend. I'll go and get a healer – he should probably check on you and give medicines. The sooner you recover, the better", Aengifu told her brightly. She made a vague noise in agreement and closed her eyes; the ache in her skull was becoming worse, and she wished she could slip back into dreams.

Aengifu went ahead, leaving her alone in the quiet chamber. Soon as she was gone, Lothíriel regretted not asking her how long she had been out of it – surely it had to be days, what with how weak she felt. Remembering the events before she had gone down was still difficult, but perhaps the medicines and some hot stew might make it easier.

Her thoughts turned to Éomer once more, and imagined him sitting there by her side as the silent watches of the night passed, perhaps even singing to her like she had dreamt. Somehow, though she had no clear memory of it, she was thankful for his care – even though he must have been tired as well. He had been out riding patrols when she had got sick... now that she was trying hard to reach back, she remembered having this feverish dream where they brought him back from the battlefield, slain as his father had been. In an odd way the memory of Derehild's face mixed with it, and she guessed she had been delirious and the girl had been trying to wake her.

The feeling of tightness in her throat and chest had nothing to do with the sickness. Burying her face in the pillow, she tried to fight this strange ache. She did not understand where it had come from, or why it would throb like this just at the thought of his name. He was... she had to...

Thankfully, the healer arrived then and so spared her from more of confusing and agonizing thoughts. After his inspection, he told her mostly what she knew to expect anyway: the fever had gone down, her breathing was more regular and less plagued by coughing, and with proper rest and medicines, she would soon be as good as new.

"It is good the Lord Marshal intervened when he did. Few more hours and you might have been beyond my help", Heregils said solemnly when he had finished giving her instructions for medicines. Lothíriel had no idea of what to say to that, so she just nodded quietly and lay back on the pillows. To think her life had been so compromised... she had not realised at the time, of course, but now she surely did. It was dreadful to even think of what might have happened if she died here. And what trouble it would have been for Éomer! Once more, she scolded herself for bringing all this nuisance under his roof – he had plenty to worry about as it was, without her complicating things for him.

Lothíriel closed her eyes, shuddering slightly when she had to cough. This could not happen again – she could not be even more of a burden to her friend than she already was.

Feeling tired, she barely had strength to drink up the healing tea Heregils had prepared for her along with some hot stew Aengifu had brought from the kitchens; however, the healer stayed by her side and watched her like a hawk until she had finished both the drink and the food. His order to get some rest she accepted gladly, and in moments after placing her head back on the pillow, she fell asleep once more.

* * *

After the long ride from Edoras, then sitting the evening and night by Lothíriel's side, Éomer was not certain what kept him going the following day. He had not got much sleep as of late, which was not helped by all the things that concerned his mind. Would a day ever arrive when he would not feel this weight on his shoulders? Well, it was gone when _she_ was around, or at least it used to be so. Now the things he felt for her seemed to make these burdens twice as heavy. And knowing he had no such right, he would never ask her to relieve any of it.

Be it as may, duty did not ask whether he was up to its demands, and so he had forced himself to leave her side when morning came. Somehow, by sheer effort of will and stubbornness, he had attended to his tasks and then headed out to pay a visit to the men who kept his herds beyond the walls of Aldburg. Horses were the wealth of the Riddermark, and so he kept himself as closely informed on his own property as the situations allowed. He knew all too well how much Rohan's enemies coveted these prized animals.

But as he and few of his riders turned their steeds to the way home, Éomer's mind returned once more to the young maiden whose well-being had eclipsed his other worries in a rather surprising fashion. Somehow, it seemed like as long as he knew she was fine, he'd be able to get around any other problem fates might throw at him. But if she were in some peril.. then he'd stumble around like a blind man, helpless and lost. Once he had thought he could choose not to fall in love, and that no one had the power to command his heart unless he gave it up. For a while, he had even been able to convince himself that whatever he felt for her was just physical attraction, nothing deeper. After all, his adult life consisted of a continuous struggle against falling in love, and considering that he had admitted defeat rather easily. But now he saw it had never been just desire, just as it had never been a choice – the moment he had brought her to his hall and granted his protection to her, he had also given her an opening, even though the dream at the night of the storm should have been a warning enough. Like a careless warrior who lowers his guard, he had underestimated her spirit, her light, her warmth. And here he was, perhaps only hours or days from losing her...

Yet he knew it would be to wrong to say he'd lose her: how can one lose something one has never even had?

There was a burning feeling somewhere deep in his chest, and he dug his heels in Firefoot's sides, wishing to fly from the storm of thoughts in his minds. Yet he knew even a purely bred _mearh_ could not gallop fast enough to get away from _this._ Her name, her face, her touch – it was consuming him, filling his veins with a fire the Rohir had not felt before. As though to tempt and drive him further down the road of madness, the memory of her embrace, the first one without layers of armour in the way, returned to him. The feel of her breasts pressing against his chest, her hips so very close to his... her smell, sweet yet spicy, still seemed to float around him, and even now he had hard time banishing the mental image of how her dark hair might look like when it cascaded all over that delicious, warm skin. The dear girl had not guessed what she was unleashing with a simple hug!

He shifted in the saddle and felt the uncomfortable tightness in his groin to settle in. Béma damn it, and damn all the foolish males in the world! And damn him, letting these thoughts run rampant in his mind while she still fought for her life!

At the gates of Aldburg Éomer had to slow down once more, much to his displeasure. In a few moments before they entered, Éothain came to his side, looking about as breathless as his horse.

"Béma, what's got into you? You rode like the enemy himself was chasing you!" said his captain, searching Éomer's face with disquietude clearly written in his eyes. Usually, Éothain was discreet about his concern, but he could not really fool the Marshal: Éomer knew how much his friend worried about him, putting generations of mother hens to shame. Sometimes he wondered if it were because Éothain feared there was too much of Éomund in him, and that some careless mistake might claim Éomer's life as had happened to his father.

"It's nothing, Éothain", the younger man grunted, passing the gate guards with a quick wave of his hand. The last thing he needed right now was his captain bothering him with questions he could not answer.

"If this is about your little serving maid, I'm sure she'll be fine", Éothain continued, as was his wont. The man had sometimes no idea of when to stop.

"Can you please not talk to me right now?" Éomer said to him curtly, fixing his eyes ahead. His captain seemed to understand now was not the time to try his patience, though the Marshal still did feel Éothain's eyes on himself. He could only imagine what the older rider made of this... Béma, if it only had been possible for him to just tell the truth! Sometimes, it was almost too much to carry. However, no one besides Éowyn could know – unless Lothíriel's life absolutely depended on it. And so Éothain was left thinking this was merely the reaction of an anxious lover, not knowing how much was at stake with her living or dying.

But whatever he wanted his captain to think, in those deep fractures she had used to slip inside his heart, he was still scared senseless that she _would_ die. Fates truly were a cruel thing, sending him so often on dangerous paths and littering his road with malicious blades seeking his demise, and yet it was _her_ life they so eagerly sought to end!

When they arrived at the courtyard of his Hall, his gaze was drawn towards the doors before he knew it. He had left orders to send for him if there was any change, and he had taken no news as good news. Now as he saw Aengifu there, his heart made an unpleasant little sidestep, but her consoling smile quickly consoled him.

"How is she?" Éomer asked at any rate before he had even time to dismount.

"A bit better, it seems. She was awake for a bit, my lord – she asked for you", Aengifu answered with a curtsy.

It was a good thing he was still in the saddle. Otherwise, Éomer rather seriously feared he might have collapsed with sheer relief... if his princess had been awake, surely that was a good sign? That she'd get well soon?

The reminder he gave himself was a cold, grim one.

 _She's not yours._

* * *

With rest, diligently administered medicines and bowls of Heagyth's famous stew, Lothíriel's sickness soon took turn for the better. How could she linger in ailment when Eomer was there, gently coaxing her back to health? Somehow, he was able to make time for her each day, even in the middle of his many concerns, and though she told him not to worry about her. However, he merely gave her a strange smile and stated that her well-being was quite important to him. She smiled weakly in response, trying to hide the discomfort that had been within her heart ever since she had woken up in his bedchamber.

As for Athilda, she mostly ignored Lothiriel once the princess returned to her duties in the household. In clipped tones, Éomer curtly said he had made sure the woman bothered her no more, but the gossip among the servants was he had threatened to send her away for good. That earned Lothíriel some wary looks from the members of the household, and she knew they were sizing her up in an entirely new way. If the lord of the house was ready and willing to send away anyone who mistreated her, then it surely implied a shift in the dynamics of the Marshal's Hall. Not to mention, it granted her power she did not particularly want. However, she could very well see how her friend had not exactly had choice about it – he had needed to make sure Athilda got the point.

Be it as may, Lothíriel did her best to keep her head down and mind her own business. Even so, she could feel things were not exactly the same as before, and she was not perceived simply as a servant maid who happened to please the eye of their lord. If the Marshal was willing to sacrifice his experienced and knowledgeable chatelaine rather than a young servant who had no Eorling blood in her...

"I don't think he considers you a mere mistress. It's not nothing when a man holds on so tightly as he does to you", Aengifu told her seriously. She frowned slightly, "You don't seem to understand what it means, to be honest."

"Oh, I do. I do well enough", Lothíriel muttered, furiously concentrated on scrubbing clean the spot on the floor. She was already regretting asking her friend what was causing the strange looks she had been receiving from other servants – though at least Aengifu, Derehild and Saethryd had not changed their manners towards her. She was rather thankful for that.

She wished she could have told her friend the truth: that Éomer was not giving ultimatums because he liked her uncommonly much. She held her silence, though, knowing there was no way she could reveal her secret. It wasn't that she didn't trust Aengifu – she just didn't want to burden her with this knowledge.

"I'm not sure you do, my friend", said the other girl, her tone remaining grave. "He could offer you a life unlike anything you've ever had, Daerien. Unlike what you have _now."_

Lothíriel's head perked up as she picked up her friend's meaning.

 _"No._ Surely that's the last thing in his mind!" she said hotly. The truth was on her tongue, rolling around, demanding to be let out. She had to bite her lip in order to keep it in. _She can't know. No one can!_

"Just trust me, Daerien. This is different – I don't think he sees you just as something that can be removed and replaced by another", Aengifu said, looking like she had entirely forgotten about their task.

"What is it to you? Why do you care?" Lothíriel asked warily, straightening and resting her hands on her broom.

"It's just... well, things might change here, if the hall had a lady. Béma knows this place could use a more feminine touch every now and then – and we are both well aware Athilda has absolutely no idea of what that concept even means. Not to mention, the Crown Prince has no family, though he is not even a young man anymore. It might help to secure the future of our people", Aengifu answered slowly. Suddenly, a smile appeared on her face, "Not to mention, it would be quite romantic."

Lothíriel could not help but scoff at that. Romantic indeed... if only she could tell her friend the Marshal did not see her in that way!

"What is it? Did you leave someone in the western lands? Are you spoken for already – beyond that vile fellow your uncle tried to force you to marry?" her friend wanted to know, but Lothíriel shook her head.

"It's not like that", she said quietly, lowering her gaze. "It's simply mine world and his are just too different. And I'm fairly sure you're the only person who wouldn't mind _me_ being the lady of this hall."

Aengifu was now quiet, and her expression became somewhat hesitant. Perhaps she was considering Daerien's low birth when compared to the King's nephew, which was surely what she hoped for. But princess or no, Lothíriel could not ever imagine herself being what Eomer would want in his wife. She was too young, too naive, too different. Men like him should have bold, fierce women as their companions, and she was anything but.

 _His wife._ Where had that come from? It was not like she was looking to be anyone's wife here – all she wanted was to go home, just as Éomer wanted his life to go back to normal. She shook her head, telling herself these were wholly absurd thoughts. He was her friend, her safekeeper, and nothing more.

As far as she could see, this resolution was more or less confirmed in the days that followed. Éomer was often away, sometimes weeks at a time, riding patrols and partaking in King's Council. But when he was home, it almost felt like he was avoiding her. and he very rarely touched her even in the public. During those nights she spent in his chambers, he would stay far from her, and in the bed he seemed to be laying so close to the edge it was a wonder he did not fall on the floor during the night. Had she angered him somehow? Or had he simply grown weary of having to pretend all the time? Lothíriel knew she could not blame him if that were the case.

Be it as may, the situation made her even more sad than she would ever have guessed. During her time in Rohan, she had come to consider Eomer her dear friend, perhaps the best one she had ever had. That friendship was not something she wanted to lose, and least of all by her own doing. But how to approach him about it, when she didn't want to bother him more than she already did? How to ask what was this new unease between them? Perhaps it was about that day by the stream... should she have kissed him then? Given herself over to him and make their pretension the very reality? Would he have remained close to her then, if she had let him have her... Yet these were dangerous things to ponder for long, and so she tried to forget it. For surely if she allowed that thought to grow, then she would surely risk the friendship she had with Éomer – even if he were acting strange as of late.

It came to pass a few days later she got back on her feet that she finally got a comprehensive answer on what made Athilda so hateful towards her. She and Derehild had been down to the markets to pick up some things for Master Heregils – the healer had insisted some fresh air would be good after her sickness, especially with the fine, crisp weather of bright October day. Seeing his intent behind the instructions, the two young women did not make particular haste along the way.

But as they got back into the courtyard of the Marshal's Hall, Lothíriel saw the chatelaine of the household with a company of four other people: a woman some fifteen years her junior and three young children, oldest of whom had not seen her tenth birthday yet. What did hold her gaze was not these strangers but rather the look on Athilda's face: the woman was actually _smiling._ It was almost overwhelming how much the expression changed how her features came across.

"I don't think I've ever seen her smile. It seems like some kind of a contradiction", Lothíriel whispered to Derehild, who harrumphed softly.

"We are all walking and talking contradictions. Some are just larger than others", said her friend and shrugged. A wry smile touched her face, "One could say you being here right now, in the position that you are, is a big one too."

 _Oh, if you knew just how big,_ Lothíriel thought to herself, refraining from shaking her head for the irony of it. Instead she fixed her eyes on the five people at the doors of the Hall, smiling and laughing. One of the children jumped into the neck of the chatelaine, who received him with a bright smile.

"Who are they?" she asked then the other woman, who had been watching the same display as her.

"Her nephew's family. They live in Harrowdale, but hey visit her occasionally. Athilda dotes on them just as she used to dote on him", answered her friend. The young woman glanced at her, "You know what happened to him?"

"He... he was killed in Westfold by Dunlendings", Lothíriel remembered. Yes, that was what Éomer had told her the day she had first come to Aldburg.

"Aye, he was", Derehild muttered and let out a small sigh. "She took it very heavily."

"I can imagine", Lothíriel muttered, frowning to herself and looking down. "But I still wonder why it makes her hate me so much."

Her friend stood quiet for a while, regarding her with an unreadable expression on her face.

"Can you keep a secret, Daerien?" Derehild asked in a low voice. Her question made the princess lift her eyebrows.

"Of course I can. What is it?" she asked back.

The other serving maid seemed to consider something for a moment before she cleared her throat, "Athilda's nephew isn't the reason she resents you so bitterly. Well, his fate doesn't exactly help your case, but ultimately it springs from something much more personal."

Lothíriel looked at her quizzically, and when she saw the troubled look on her friend's face, she grew curious yet also somewhat dreadful of what Derehild was going to say.

"Athilda wasn't always the chatelaine of the Marshal's Hall, though she grew up here in Aldburg and served the Princess Théodwyn. She only left the town after the lady had died, and returned here some time before Lord Éomer did. Until then she was... she was married and she had a family in Westfold", Derehild explained in a quiet voice, her eyes moving to regard the chatelaine and her nephew's children.

"What happened to them?" Lothíriel whispered, though a part of her was terrified to even ask.

Her friend sighed again before answering, "Dunlending raiders attacked her village. Her husband and child, only a babe in arms, were killed, and she almost died too when she tried to defend her child."

The gasp came out as though on its own, utterly horrified at what she was hearing. Lothíriel stared at her friend, whose expression had become a proper scowl. While Derehild's words certainly explained a great deal about Athilda, she wasn't sure she was glad to know this. Elbereth! No wonder the chatelaine had loathed her from the start. Everything that even vaguely hinted Dunlending must be utterly hateful to her!

"That is the most horrible thing I've ever heard", she mumbled weakly. How was she going to face Athilda now?

"I know how that feels. I wish I didn't know it", Derehild muttered and looked away. "I don't think anyone in Aldburg does except for us. Actually, very few even know Athilda was married. You know how she is – she would hate to have people's pity."

"How do you know about it, then?" Lothíriel wondered out loud, carefully keeping her eyes from drifting towards the direction of Athilda.

"It was one of my first nights as a servant of the Marshal's household. I couldn't get sleep and so I sneaked down to the kitchens to get something to drink. But Athilda and her nephew were up at the time, and they were talking by the fire... it wasn't difficult to put together two and two, based on what I heard them say then. I knew I shouldn't have been there or listened to it, but somehow I couldn't move. Maybe I was afraid they'd realise I was present. And we both know Athilda might just have killed me on the spot", her friend answered, crossing her arms tightly on her chest.

"But surely she would have told Lord Éomer about it at least?" asked the princess after a moment. Her voice still sounded weak and on the verge of breaking. The image threatened to grow on her, the bloodstained bodies of a fair-haired man and a child... and then unspeakable agony, inflicted with sheer sadistic pleasure just because she had tried to protect someone. Lothíriel shuddered, fighting the sensation of nausea.

"To be honest, it's not a wonder she never did. She's not very fond of him, you see", Derehild answered, looking at her again. The other woman frowned.

"Why is that?" she wanted to know.

"It's one of those idle things Saethryd says. Her mother was a serving maid here at the time, and she knows quite a bit of what went by in this Hall in those days. I love the girl but she doesn't always realise what she's actually saying", Derehild began, fixing her eyes on the sky, while Lothíriel smiled faintly at the other woman's assessment on their mutual friend.

"Athilda loved the Princess Théodwyn very dearly – was her confidante, really. It hit her hard when the lady of the house died, and she understandably blamed Lord Éomund for it. And everyone knows Lord Éomer takes much after his father", the brown-haired woman went on, idly picking at the sleeve of her dress.

"So you're saying Athilda dislikes Lord Éomer because he reminds her too much of the man she blames for the death of her dear friend", Lothíriel concluded.

"About so, yes", Derehild replied, nodding slightly.

A silence fell between the two young women. By now, Athilda and her nephew's family had disappeared inside, for which Lothíriel was thankful. Derehild had said the chatelaine did not want anyone's pity, but she was afraid that was exactly what she'd feel. Indeed, how was she to face the woman now, knowing the things she had gone through? Surely Athilda would see immediately she now knew the tragedy of her past? Only thing she could imagine happening then was the chatelaine hating her even more.

"Why do you think she came back, if she doesn't like Lord Éomer?" Lothíriel asked eventually.

Her friend looked at her, her expression as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, he _is_ the only son of Princess Théodwyn."

* * *

For the sixth time that night, Éomer groaned to himself and straightened up from the side of the table, on which was spread the map of the Riddermark. It was a frayed piece, made some time during the years his father had served as the First Marshal. How many times he and his son after him had leaned down over it, examining it in deep thought, and planned their campaigns against orcs? How many times had Father pulled back like he did now, frustrated and feeling inadequate, hoping against hope he could have done more? In his mind's eye, Éomer could see the form of his sire, staring at this map in concentration... and then a slighter figure appearing, reaching a delicate hand to touch the arm of the man beside her. He had never realised what a comfort she must have been to his father, not before these past couple years when so many bad things were happening, and so much weight was piling up on his shoulders.

But try as he might, he could not move mountains by himself, just as his tired mind could not see a way to thwart all the evils that pushed against Rohan's borders. He needed more men... he had to make Théoden see... and Eorlingas needed their king to _lead._

Frustration grew heavy on his bones as he stalked away from the table. Éomer knew what would have been Éothain's advice right now: the man would have told him to go to bed and think about this again when he had got some sleep. He would have followed with that idea as well, but a part of him was afraid what might happen if he did... what he might do if he was too close to _her._

Lothíriel had gone to sleep already a couple of hours ago, looking pale and tired. He had worried if she was getting sick again and if she had returned to her duties too quickly. But sick or no, the idea of her in his bed was just too dangerous, especially if he were to lay himself down next to her. Even now he was trying to fight back some painfully seductive images – _fire's light against her creamy skin dark hair spread on the pillows the sound of his name when she moaned it –_ and he really did not want to test his limits.

Wearily he poured himself some ale though he knew answers hardly hid at the bottom of a tankard. Sipping the rich liquid, his mind wandered again and he thought whether he should go and make some tea in the kitchens – perhaps that might help him to stay awake until he was so tired he wouldn't even dream of _her._ He could sleep by the fire too, and get up so early that she wouldn't notice he had never lain next to her...

A muffled sob from the bedchamber ended his line of thought. Éomer looked up, listening in alarm and wondering if he had just imagined the sound. But there it was again, and it was louder this time.

His princess was crying in her sleep again. Was he imagining it or was she doing this more often these days?

Then he heard her voice: "Please... Éomer... Éomer!"

 _She was crying for him._

He could never have prepared for the heated rush of fire and _need_ at the sound of distress in her voice. His vision burned red and black at the same time, and yet his focus was sharpened as the cold blade of the sword into the single purpose of defending her. Before he even knew it, he was already running for her, his body instinctively preparing for battle, and Béma only might have helped them if any damned soul had been then standing between him and Lothíriel.

In seconds he was by the side of the woman calling for him, and if his fury had been red fire only seconds ago, now it was a brilliant white flame. Some dark dream must be on her, or so guessed by the senseless agony on her features, and he desperately needed to see it gone. So he more or less fell next to her and reached for her shoulders. Gently but determinedly he shook her, his heart still beating fast against his breast.

"Lothíriel, wake up. It's just a dream", he commanded her loudly, which seemed to do the trick. Her eyes snapped open and she froze, staring up at him as though she did not fully understand what she was seeing.

"You were dreaming. It was only a nightmare", Éomer told her, keeping his voice low and calming.

"There was... the child... there was so much blood", she stammered, blinking at him as though she was still only half awake.

"What child?" he asked her with some confusion. What could possibly give her such a dream?

"My child. He was dead. And you were... I cried for you, but you were... they had..." she answered, but her response was becoming more and more nonsensical by the second.

"Calm down, dear one. It was nothing more than a dream. You know I would never let anything harm you", he told her, pulling her close. She let out a small anxious sound as her hands gripped him tight, trembling against him as she fought to regain her calm.

How worried he had been about getting too close to her! Yet now this moment Éomer's only concern was to make sure she was all right; anything carnal was the furthest thing from his mind. He was not used to comforting maidens in need – his relationships with them had never become so emotionally intimate, not even with Brithwen. When in their patrols he and his men came across panicky people, Éothain was usually the one to calm them down. Yet here he was, stroking the hair of one deeply distressed and homesick lady, and apparently he was doing rather good job of it. Or at least he assumed so when he felt her relaxing against him. It was bewildering and slightly frightening, the way he was so utterly under her power... anything she asked, he knew now he would do.

This realisation did not exactly delight Éomer. He had to get away from her, had to...

But even as he tried to move her back, Lothíriel grabbed him tight again.

"Don't go", she muttered sleepily, crushing his resistance with few quiet syllables. Béma! He could not even fight this!

"I'm here", he answered, not liking how feeble his voice came out. The princess in his arms hemmed softly, sounding like she was almost asleep again. How he wanted to push her back, to get as far from her as he could, and yet how could he leave her if she needed him? For her, it was entirely innocent to be like this; how could she have guessed what torment it was to him to touch her, feel her so closely pressed against himself, and know he was no better than a thief stealing a taste of a lord's sweet garden?

"I was so cold before", Lothíriel mumbled drowsily and snuggled tighter against him, and Éomer sat still, not knowing if he would die either from the joy of holding her or from the knowledge that eventually, he would have to let go of her.

He decided it did not matter, not right now. It was late and they both needed to sleep. So he moved them somewhat awkwardly on the bed, while the princess persistently kept her hold of him. Evidently she had decided he was not going anywhere before the morning.

Strange thing was, until Imrahil's daughter had come to his life, getting into bed with a woman had meant neither of them would be wearing any clothes. Yet now he would be entirely content in just holding this bright-eyed maiden through the night.

 _Sweet princess... what are you doing to me?_

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Here's an update for the weekend! I hope you enjoyed it. :)

I have revised this chapter several times, and in the end I added a lot of stuff that were not in my original plan for it. I also had to move some things to the next chapter when the word count started to get too big (and the whole thing a bit too messy). I'm not sure I'm entirely pleased with how this turned out, but at this point I just need to get this out of my hands. Be it as may, there are certainly parts there I immensely enjoyed writing, and Éomer especially continues to be a delight (but also somewhat pain in the ass :')).

Hopefully the conversation between Lothíriel and Derehild gives some light to Athilda's bitter resentment. I had thought someone as astute as Derehild would pick up as much. Maybe she has an inkling about what's going on between Lothíriel and Éomer, too.

As always, thank you for your reviews! I cannot stress how much they mean to me.

* * *

 **Undomiel -** Thank you very much! I'm glad you liked it. :)

 **Rubandebluie -** You are quite correct! Hope you enjoyed his squirming. :) Poor man is completely smitten.

 **Irgendwer -** Thank you!

 **Rangella -** I don't think he's very happy about having figured it out, especially as long as he's under the impression she doesn't return his feelings. He is definitely growing on her, but she may be a tougher nut to crack, so to speak. Anyway, I hope this story continues to please you!

 **Wondereye -** Thanks! I would say it's much deeper for him than mere obsession. Though it is quite intense at the moment, what with his thinking she's out of his league.

 **Anonymous -** I am very pleased to hear that!

Yes, she's definitely growing more and more fond of Rohan. And certain someone is probably a big reason in why that is. She would probably grow to love it more quickly if she could be herself.

And what can I say? As a writer, it's incredibly satisfying to write that struggle towards them coming together. It's a bit different angle from my previous stories.

 **chrisny.2002 -** Thank you! :) I'm happy to hear you like this fic.

It seemed to me they would not realise it at the same time - for him, it's triggered by the fear of losing her. But for her it is a slower process, maybe because she hasn't exactly ever thought about falling in love. Not seriously at any rate. But we'll see how things turn out!

 **Anonymous #2 -** Thank you! I'm afraid I can't update quite so quickly, but I do my best!

 **Madam X -** Thanks! :) It's good to hear I've managed to write him so well.

 **A -** Sorry about that. :')

 **notyetanotheralias -** And that's exactly what he resolves when he comes home, isn't it? However, before his ultimatum in last chapter, he was hoping not to attract too much attention towards Lothíriel - which is exactly what would happen when a lord like him favours this random foreign girl over an experienced housekeeper.

 **coffeebookchiller -** Happy to hear that! :) Things are far from finished indeed, but where the trouble will come from and what will happen to our lovebirds - well, that remains to be seen.

 **Talia119 -** We are moving, slowly but surely! :D You are pretty correct about your assessment on Lothíriel and her feelings for him. He is growing on her indeed but she has yet to comprehend what it means. Most likely right now she just associates it with the security he provides her with.

Hope you liked the bit about Athilda's past!

 **Rhiannon A. Christy -** I'm glad to have provided you with little something nice at the end of your finals! I hope they went well for you. :)

I would say Éomer is too much of a gentleman to just go ahead and kiss her like that, especially when he believes her to be off limits. And what can I say - I just enjoy writing him in lovesick agony! ;) Is it weird to say I'm glad to have made you cry? :D

Also I'm incredibly glad to hear I'm not the only one who thinks that song is perfect for them! God, I can't stop listening to it.

 **sailor68 -** Yes, things are growing more heated between them! We'll see how long it'll take for her to figure it out too and when they'll confess their feelings to each other. :) Unfortunately for both the characters and my readers, I seem to be on a fairly sadistic mood. :D So there may be lots of suppressed feelings ahead!

 **coecoe11 -** Thank you! I hope you liked this new chapter. :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Firefoot was having his shoes replaced when Brithwen approached Éomer.

It was the first time since their parting that she made any attempt to talk to him. He was not surprised it had taken this long – she didn't usually hold grudges, but those she held on to were the kind to last.

He was waiting outside the smithery and talking with the apprentice when he saw her approach. Éomer had seen her at times when passing through the town, but every time she had refused to meet his eyes or even acknowledge him. Needless to say, he had been staying away from her tavern. It was not wise to try one's luck in such a way when there was a woman scorned – especially when the said woman is as talented with the sword as Brithwen was.

Now she was looking straight at him. He could not really read her face, as it was carefully controlled, and her eyes were veiled. Be it as may, he met her gaze and nodded in greeting. No matter how they had parted ways, he had no reason for hard feelings against her.

The smith's apprentice took his cue and fell away, leaving him alone with the Shieldmaiden.

"Brithwen. I hope you have been well?" Éomer spoke, offering a small smile to his former mistress. She did not exactly return it, but she did give him a tiny nod.

"Adequate", she answered.

"Is business going well?" he inquired her, hoping to reassure her he was more than willing to keep things polite.

"It's fine. Ale always sells, whether people are sad or glad", Brithwen answered, shrugging slightly. He made a vague sound in agreement, remembering the drinks her tavern served with some nostalgia. Made with a recipe kept as a secret for generations, the ale of The Green Spear was legendary through the Mark.

A silence fell between them, neither of them apparently knowing what to say. But as it began to turn awkward, Éomer cleared his throat, and he asked, "Is there something I can help you with, Brithwen?"

"Actually, I was hoping to talk with you", she said eventually, lifting up her eyes and looking at him once more.

"About what?" he inquired, though he already had an inkling of what she had in mind.

"About us. About that foreigner and if you're ready to come around", she answered. Though her words were belligerent, her voice was not.

"You've come to ask me to leave her? I'm sorry, Brithwen, but it's not going to happen", he said calmly. Her eyes flashed at his answer, but she remained collected.

"I suppose she's quite the exotic thing compared us old lasses of the Mark, but surely she can't be anything else than a passing fancy?" she asked him, sounding as though she was gently persuading a reckless lad to give up a potentially harmful occupation. Éomer was not particularly pleased, but he decided getting angry was not a way about this.

"Brithwen, we have known each other for a long time, but you do not know my mind better than I do", he told her now with a hint of coolness. Then, seeking to soften it somewhat, he continued, "I know you didn't deserve the way I left you. It was unfair and for that I will always be sorry."

"But not sorry enough to get rid of her, are you?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

"She is blameless in this, Brithwen. If you want to be angry at someone, be angry at _me._ I know I deserve that much. But Daerien never wanted any harm to come to you. I promised to take care of her, and you know I do not go back on my word", Éomer answered evenly.

She stared at him hard, as though she could make him change his mind by the mere effort of will. He met the gaze in silence, keenly aware of how much he regretted hurting her, of not being the man she wanted him to be. Moreover, he burned with the urge to just tell her the truth, instead of leaving her wondering if it had been something she had done. But how to explain he had chosen to protect Lothiriel, but not to fall in love?

"We had a good thing, Éomer. Don't throw it away like this", she said, her tone growing more and more pleading as she spoke.

"It's too late, Brithwen. I can't leave her. I won't", he told her, firm but gentle.

"Pray tell, why is she so special? She knew nothing of our ways when she came here, she's a nobody! You can tell me all you want she's of the Dúnedain, but that doesn't change the fact her father's people are our enemies! Don't you see how damning that is? Don't you know what is happening in the Westfold?" she demanded him angrily, her voice threatening to rise higher than he was comfortable with. Really, he could have done without this little scene.

Éomer sighed. There was no other way about this, was there?

"I love her. And nothing you could ever say can change that", he stated in a quiet voice. He had not wanted to say it out loud, because he knew it would hurt her. Especially towards the end of their affair, it had been a tender spot to her that he did not return her feelings. He could only imagine how it must feel like to her – to have spent all that time with him, having fought by his side and loved him... and in the end, it was someone she considered an enemy he would fall for. True, things would have been a lot simpler had they gone after Brithwen's mind, and Lothíriel had never come to the Mark. But life rarely went the simple way, not for him at least.

Brithwen stared at him in silence, her eyes wide and full of the injury he had known to expect. A part of him would have liked to apologise, to tell her he hadn't planned any of this. But how could he say he was sorry about the way he felt? How could any of his words make up for the unfairness of Brithwen's situation?

She looked away briefly, perhaps to fight for calm and to mask her reaction. When she looked back, ire had taken the place of shock and hurt.

"What next, Éomer? Are you going to take her to wife while you're at it? How wonderful would that be! Perhaps then Théodred's sons will be fighting against yours, just as in Helm Hammerhand's time! Or have you forgotten how our people suffered under the rule of Dunlendings? That _witch_ is only trying to use you to set up her Dunlending brats on the throne of the Mark!" she spat angrily at him, her sudden outburst taking him by surprise.

Her words immediately ignited his own temper, and swiftly he stepped forward. In one, harsh movement he had grabbed her by the front of her tunic.

"Brithwen, I am sorry for how things ended between us, I truly am. If you want to quarrel, then I'm happy to indulge you. But leave her out of it. If you insult her one more time, you _will_ regret it", Éomer growled under his breath, glaring daggers at the woman before him. She glared right back at him.

"Let me go or so help me Béma, I will punch you", she hissed, looking like she was only seconds away from going through with her threat.

He released her, feeling his anger grow lame and then turn into frustration.

"Are we done here?" he asked his former mistress, resigned and tired.

"Oh, we are", she snapped and turned away without as much as a goodbye. She strode away swiftly, her form still radiating fury.

Éomer watched her go in silence and felt an uneasy feeling settle in the back of his mind. While Brithwen might have given up for the time being, he knew the matter was far from being finished.

* * *

 _Two weeks later_

When the Marshal and his Riders returned from a patrol to the wild lands of the Wold, it was with tidings of a great victory against a large band of orcs. This news was received enthusiastically in Aldburg, though Éomer himself did not seem overjoyed. Lothíriel quickly found out the reason for his mood, as she heard him muttering to Éothain, "We both know this was but a scratch on the vastness of the enemy's armies. Yet it will not make him love Eorlingas any more than he already did."

Be it as may, the supper that night was noisier than usual, and the Riders requested refills of their tankards more often than they normally would. As a result, Lothíriel was kept rather busy, as she was on serving duty that night.

It was a form of art, really, making one's way through the crowd without spilling pitchers full of ale on people, or accidentally run into someone and get soaked herself. Silently she considered it was a good thing she had more or less spent her childhood in boats – the wildly rolling waves were as much a challenge for one's sense of balance and control as a buckling stallion might be.

She made one stop at the Marshal's table and poured ale into the mug of her friend, resting her hand on his shoulder as she did. It was strange, how easy it seemed now to be touching him – only a few months ago, she had felt scandalised and embarrassed even if she had been the one to initiate the touch.

Éomer thanked her quietly and looked up at her, his gaze holding something similar as on that day by the stream. She felt her cheeks warming up and muttered vaguely about having to continue with her task before Athilda's wrath fell on her – never mind the fact the chatelaine rarely spoke to her these days, even if there had been something she had done wrong.

Her breathing returned to its normal pace when she had got away from him. What was it about the man that put her off balance like this? Maybe she was better off not knowing.

Lothíriel navigated across the crowd once more, seeking with her eyes with those who might appreciate a refill. It was rather impressive, she thought, how much ale some individuals here were able to consume during one day. But then, she had learned ale was generally considered an integral part of the every day diet rather than means to intoxication. Though that was not to say it could not be used to achieve the latter. She had a feeling Amrothos would greatly have appreciated this drink, while Elphir and Erchirion loved their fine wines too much.

Pushing those thoughts from her mind, Lothíriel focused again at the task at hand. Passing by a group of loudly talking and laughing Riders, her pitcher was quickly emptied into their waiting mugs and tankards. They were talking about the particularly gruesome details of the patrol, making her wince to herself. Lothíriel turned away with the purpose of making to the other side of the Hall, where the full barrels of ale awaited, but unexpectedly a hand fell on her wrist. She moved around to see one of the Riders staring at her and looking rather tipsy if one might say so.

"Come, lass, have a drink", he slurred, pushing his half emptied mug towards her. Well, this one surely wasn't going to get a refill from her! She'd have liked to tell him to go and get some sleep, but wasn't sure the suggestion would be appreciated or followed.

"My pitcher is empty", she blurted out and darted away, hoping his less than sharp focus would fix on something else as soon as she was gone.

Lothíriel got to the barrels and let out a small breath of relief. Éomer's men did not usually approach her, probably because of her relationship with him. She guessed they considered her off limits, and maybe her supposed Dunlending kin from her father's side played a part in it. Thankfully, no one was as virulent about it as Athilda was. Then again, she had been keeping to herself from the start, with the exception of her three friends, and she gathered she had somewhat a shy and unsociable reputation among the members of the household. Maybe they just didn't know what to say to her.

Idly worrying her lip she opened the handle of the barrel to pour more ale into the pitcher, watching the rich liquid fill it, catching a whiff of barley. Personally, she rather liked mead of the Hall made by Heagyth and her chosen few ladies. She smiled to herself when she remembered how Aengifu had explained her the ongoing rivalries between those who made the mead and ale that were drunk in the halls of Eorling lords; since times immemorial, there had been recipes protected as diligently as a dwarf might guard his hoard, and countless attempts to create the ultimate version, not to mention quite a few cunning schemes to find out the rivals' secrets. It was all quite different to her home, the red and white wines of the southern vineyards and sweet liquors made from apricots, oranges and almonds. She wondered if she could some time introduce any of those liquors to Éomer, though she wasn't sure if he liked sweeter intoxicating drinks better than ale or the strong distilled spirits which were so hot they were sometimes called liquid fire.

Suddenly, her thoughts were crudely and rather shockingly interrupted: there were hands on her hips, fingers like iron bands gripping her, and then her bottom was pulled tight into a male body. The maleness of the individual behind her was indisputably confirmed when she felt something hard pressing against her private parts. In complete and rather scandalised surprise she let out a startled squeak.

"Éomer, what are you -" she started, her voice coming out as a muffled little sound, but she was interrupted by someone else entirely. The man from before, the one who had wanted to drink ale with her!

"I'm not him, lass... if you'd like to meet another Rohirric stallion -" a hoarse voice rasped in her ear, accompanied by a hot breath that smelled strongly of ale.

She hissed under her breath and moved around fast, jerking against his grip so sharply that the man let go of her. Then she drove her knee hard into his groin, making him yowl in pain; he dropped to his knees and she slapped him across his face as hard as she could. Then without a moment's hesitation she emptied her pitcher on his head.

"I did not give you a permission to touch me!" Lothíriel snapped angrily, only vaguely aware of the attention this scene was attracting. She lifted the pitcher and was all but ready to hit the swine over the head with it, when she saw movement from the corner of her eye and spotted Éomer approaching fast. His face was as dark as thundercloud and he looked ready and capable of taking down a battalion of orcs with his bare hands.

"Are you all right?" he half asked her, half growled, looking like he was deliberating kicking the man on the floor. The fellow did not seem like he was going anywhere soon, what with the way he was clutching his unmentionables. Even so, Lothíriel couldn't help but feel a bit smug now that her anger had somewhat cooled down. Amrothos would be so proud of her, had he seen how she had put his teachings to use.

"I'm fine", she answered, clutching the now empty pitcher in her both hands. Seeing how the Rohir bristled, she reached to touch his forearm in a calming gesture, "Really, he did not harm me."

Slowly she could feel a bit of his tension lessening. Éomer grunted in what sounded like grim satisfaction and then glanced at a pair of Riders who had hastened to his sides.

"Take this swine out of my sight until he sobers up", he ordered sharply, and the command was followed as swiftly as could be expected. In moments the still groaning fellow was being taken outside. To her relief, the scene had already quieted down and people had gone back to their own devices.

"What will happen to him?" Lothíriel asked carefully, looking at the Rohir who still stood by her side.

"I will have some words with him once he has slept away his intoxication", Éomer answered in a quiet, angry voice, "And I will deliver them with my fist."

"Oh", Lothíriel managed, though she couldn't say she felt particularly sorry for the bugger. Noticing how her friend slightly lifted his eyebrows, she smiled weakly and muttered to him, "I expected you to do much worse."

His mouth became a thin line, but in his eyes there seemed to be something... something almost pained. She frowned, wondering what he was thinking.

"His offer was... it would be within your rights to accept it, if you so desired. I have no say in that. You are not my wife and we have not made the sacred vows together", he said somewhat stiffly.

As a response, she blushed from head to toe. What could she even _do_ with that statement? The bit about accepting strange men in her bed, or the one about her being his wife, or him even mentioning the Rohirric customs considering marriage? And why should it all make her feel resigned, the way she did just then?

As she fought to push against that sensation, a thought occurred to her: had Brithwen ever claimed the right of seeing other men? Luckily, she was able to hold her tongue. It was none of her business, after all.

But then, much to her relief, he smiled once more and spoke in softer tones, "You handled yourself very well. I do not think you will have to endure more approaches from drunken idiots while you are here."

"Yes, that would be good", she said emphatically, before she frowned and looked at the Rohir, "I just... is there... ah..."

"What is it, Lothíriel?" he asked her, stepping closer to her and keeping his voice low when he spoke her name.

"I'd like to know if he'll renew his 'offer' once he's sober", she said and cringed.

"I do not think so. You made your point so clear he's not like to forget it, drunk or not. And you don't generally give the signs you would welcome more approaches like his", Éomer answered. That was at least a relief to hear. Still, more out of curiosity than of actual need, Lothíriel wondered what exactly were the signs he meant – what was the rule for conduct if a woman wanted the attention of men around her in Rohan. But she decided it better not to ask, as dallying with horselords was hardly why she had travelled to Rohan.

Shaking her head to be rid of these increasingly absurd thoughts, she gripped her pitcher tight again and gave a small smile to Éomer.

"I need to get back to work. People are starting to get thirsty", she said, reaching for the handle to get more ale. Perhaps it was a vicious thing to think, but she hoped the man who had grabbed her would wake up particularly sticky.

"Of course", Éomer said, but he did not make a move to return to his seat in the Marshal's table. Lothíriel nodded and smiled at him, now armed once more with a full pitcher of ale.

When she went on her way, she thought she could feel his eyes burning through the back of her head.

* * *

The coming of evening was usually the time when things grew quiet and calm in the Marshal's Hall, and the bustle of the day gave way to some peace; only the guards would make their rounds while the household rested.

Éomer did not feel peaceful. Like a caged beast, he paced back and forth in his chambers, his mind running madly as the scene in the Hall played before his eyes over and over again. A bitter taste lingered in his mouth, though he had tried to wash it away with some ale, and though he had tried to concentrate on maps on the table, his thoughts ceaselessly turned back to _her._

Lothíriel had not joined him for the night – instead, she had said she'd stay with her servant friends. Though he was disappointed by this, Éomer considered maybe it was better she stayed away tonight. He was hardly in a very good state of mind and the last thing he wanted was to somehow frighten her, or do something they would both regret later.

Groaning as he fell to sit down by the fireplace, the image was there before his eyes once more: Lothíriel standing by the barrels to fill her pitcher, and then that idiot Asulf grabbing her from behind in a fashion one could not be mistaken about... Éomer had been on his feet in less than seconds, hastening towards her and the Rider even though in the end she had handled the affair admirably well by herself. Yet something dark and furious had boiled in his veins and in that moment he would have liked nothing better than slaying the man where he stood. _He had touched her, felt her body... who knows what things he told her..._

 _Jealousy._ What an ugly thing it was! And he had felt a fair amount of it, not just because of Asulf's drunken misconduct, but because of the fact some day someone who was not him would touch her so intimately, and she would welcome it. Once more the bitter taste flooded his mouth, now stronger than ever. How was it even possible to feel such hatred to some hypothetical man in her future? And yet it killed him, to imagine _her_ in the arms of any other man, being his wife, sharing her life and innermost thoughts with him, and bringing his children into the world... or maybe something even worse: she'd be given to some pompous lordling who did not care about her beyond what connections her name could ensure!

 _It's none of your business,_ he told himself in a way that bordered on desperate, _you have no right..._

Angrily he shot up on his feet once more, resuming to pacing and kicking a chair out of his way in a bout of helpless wrath. Béma! This woman was going to drive him mad, and she didn't even seem to know what she was doing to him!

Deciding he was truly going to lose it if he stayed confined inside these walls a moment longer, Éomer quickly reached for his coat and pulled it on before heading out. He was not stranger to the idea of pouring out his agitation and anger into some training, though at this time of night he was not going to find a willing partner for some sparring. Luckily, his master in arms had just the thing for the occasion.

Hopefully Wulfhelm would not be too displeased to have one of his dummies dismantled in the middle of the night.

* * *

 _A week later_

The night was a late one when Lothíriel startled awake. Her abrupt jerk had her nearly falling on the floor; in sleepy confusion she blinked her eyes and eventually realised she had fallen asleep in the chair by the fire in Éomer's rooms. She had been doing some needlework, waiting for him to join her, but he had never showed up.

Lothíriel had lately missed spending time with him. She missed nights they had sat before fire, talking about everything and nothing until the late hours. She had hoped maybe she could get him on a good enough mood that they might have such a night once more.

But the moment had never arrived, as the man had not made an appearance – she did not think of that for long, though, because she realised what had disturbed her sleep. There were loud voices outside, all the way down to the twin doors of the Hall apparently. Who was making such racket at this time of night?

Clutching her shawl tight around her shoulders, Lothíriel got up on her feet and headed for the door. Once in the corridor the sounds became more distinct and she recognised the raucous tones of a bunch of drunken men. They laughed and shouted, filling the previously peaceful hall with their rowdy noises. This was something that at times puzzled her, the way Eorlingas had such joy for living even when the world was so full of dark and evil things. But talking with her servant friends, she had eventually understood it was merely their way of enduring the darkness.

"Best we can do is to laugh at the face of evil fate", Aengifu had stated gravely, and Saethryd and Derehild had accompanied her words with solemn nods.

That was certainly what the laughing group was doing now, as was confirmed when she came to see the Hall and a bunch of Éomer's Riders. They looked to have been deep into their cups, and some hadn't even re-emerged yet, as could be seen by the flasks passed between them.

For a moment Lothíriel thought to leave them to it and return to the Marshal's chambers, or maybe seek her own bedroll, but she did not get to follow these plans. For suddenly her eyes fell on one particular face among the drunken company, and she saw Éomer there with them. By the looks of it he was just as intoxicated as the rest of them.

Then, shaking with laughter, he fell to sit on a bench, grabbing at the tunic of one of his companions for support. The two men nearly went flying for the floor in a display all too familiar to her, being the sister of Amrothos and Erchirion.

"Oh, Béma", Lothíriel growled under her breath before she even knew it. And as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she blinked in surprise. That had come out sounding more Rohirric than anything she had ever said. What had happened to the fine, well-spoken princess, who would never have addressed to Oromë the great with any other name than the one given to him in the Sindarin tongue? At times it truly seemed like that person was being replaced by some wild thing with braids in her hair and riding astride in public. Clearly she had been among Eorlingas for far too long!

Shaking her head at her own thoughts, she rolled up her sleeves and made way to the two men sitting and swaying on the bench, looking like they might actually go down any moment now.

"There you are, my lord", she spoke as she came to the side of the Marshal, touching his arm with her fingertips. He jerked sharply at her direction, his warrior's reflex working before his befuddled mind did, but his face melted into a lopsided smile when he saw it was her. Rowdy voices rose around them and suddenly she regretted showing up like this. What had she been thinking, barging at Éomer when he was surrounded by the men of his éored, his brothers in arms? It was one thing for a sister to drag her drunken brother away and put him to bed, and entirely another for a mistress to approach the lord she served like this.

"Missssed me, my lady L-" the oaf slurred, all his caution gone, and she did the only thing she could think of to stop him from spilling out her secret right there in the middle of his hall. She plastered her mouth on his.

The following applause and cheering was inevitable, rising as fast as the embarrassed blush on her cheeks, though her face was still against that of the Rohir. Elbereth! Had she ever felt more mortified? And then the idiot moaned against her mouth and his hand slipped in her hair, the strong fingers pulling her to him! The warm taste of some strong liquor was there on his mouth, burning against her lips; that was most she could think of, as this was hardly an expert kiss by two entirely coherent participants.

And yet it was her first kiss.

Lothíriel pulled back, staring hard at Éomer. In any other situation the utterly awestruck look on his face would have made her laugh.

"Yes, I missed you. Now let's go to bed", she announced, deciding brusqueness was the cleanest way out of this. At least, it seemed to greatly entertain his friends, who were now sniggering so hard that someone was bound to fall into the fireplace very soon.

"Aye, milady", slurred the damned man as she pulled at his hand to get him back on his feet.

"You better go, lad, while she still agrees to have you!" said one of the Riders as he slapped Éomer's shoulder as he got up. At least he could still walk!

Be it as may, she did not wrap her arm around his midsection until after they had got away from the drunken group. Until that point she held her breath, wildly hoping he would not collapse there on the floor. Thankfully, Éomer followed her, however unsteady his step. Once her arm was about him, supporting him to stay upright, he leaned heavily on her.

Lothíriel was able to get him as far as his rooms, which she considered a major accomplishment – especially when the git was laughing about something and slurring through some tavern song. She had never seen him this drunk and it was wildly confusing. As far as she knew, Éomer had enjoyed life as any young Rider would, but upon becoming a captain of an éored he had left behind the carefree ways of youth. And hadn't she herself witnessed how dutiful he was, how seriously he took his responsibilities?

She kicked open the door to the bedroom and steered the drunken Rohir to her best capability towards the bed, though it was becoming more difficult by the second. He was swaying harder now and his considerable size did not make her attempts any easier. If he fell on the floor now, she was so not going to try and get him to the bed! The most courtesy she would be willing to offer was to spread a blanket over him.

" _Hl_ _æ_ _fdige min... steorra éagan swá beorhte..."_ he stuttered as his face hit the side of her head, and then the villain was nuzzling her temple, her ear, her hair. Lothíriel blushed once more as she fought against her mind supplying a translation to the words he was stammering to her – she simply _couldn't_ listen to him now. Of course he'd take that stupid excuse of a kiss like this!

"Of all the irritating Eorlingas, you are the absolute worst!" she growled under her breath as she finally got him to the edge of the bed. She gave him a rough push so that he would just fall down on the mattress, but Éomer was far from being done – he grabbed her with him and continued with the nuzzling. Elbereth! She would do well if she punched him in the nose right now, even if she couldn't actually say the way his bearded face was rubbing against the side of her own head was completely disagreeable.

Then it happened. There was a large hand on her left breast, cupping her through the fabric of her clothing, his grip surprisingly gentle for someone so utterly wasted. When the sensitive tip of her breast rubbed against the fabric of her shift and his hand pressed against it, her breathing hitched, her hips buckled as though on their own, and a strange little noise escaped her mouth. It sounded like someone had stepped on a minuscule mouse. Immediately, warmth pooled in the pit of her stomach, swelling and throbbing in a way she could only describe as demanding. As though by a lightning, a memory hit her: him rolling on the top of her, his eyes flaming with dark untold things, and the weight of his body on hers...

And then his breath hit her face, and whatever had been excited died instantly when she smelled the liquor on him. So she shoved hard against him, rolling the blasted man on his back.

"Sleep! Now!" Lothíriel commanded as firmly as she could and threw a pillow at him. Damn it! He truly was completely out of it – probably he thought her some tavern wench or something of the sort... he _was_ a strong young man and having three brothers, she knew more than she really needed about the wilder workings of male mind. Strangely enough, the thought dampened her mind even further. But it was the truth, wasn't it, that he regarded _Lothíriel_ as nothing but a princess, more concept than a woman he would actually desire... or would allow himself to want...

She shook her head. What was she even thinking! He was drunk and she was being nonsensical, thinking about _him_ wanting _her._ That was not what their relationship was. He was her friend, damn it, and this slip did not mean anything – drunk men were known to be prone to do scandalous things, as she very well knew from experience.

The man began to snore then in a pile of pillows and blankets, blissfully unaware of the world around him, and especially the disgruntled princess sitting by his side.

Lothíriel sighed. It was late already and she should go to sleep as well – though not next to him. Who knew what the scoundrel might come up with? So she grabbed a spare pillow and a blanket, left the Rohir to sleep away his drunken stupor, and headed to find a sufficiently warm spot next to the fireplace.

* * *

Upon waking, Éomer was rather convinced some sort of a dwarf colony had made home inside his skull. Such he decided by the sensation of pounding pain, though it did not explain what manner of animal had crawled into his mouth and died there.

He groaned and rolled to his side, wishing to return to the blessed darkness of dreams. His memory was hazy and confused, especially after they had left that one tavern at the edge of the town... Béma! He had no memory of when he had last been so thoroughly, monstrously drunk.

"Ah, so you're alive", a voice spoke from the door of the room, and he cracked open one eye to see Lothíriel standing there, her arms crossed on her chest. She did not look very pleased, which made him wonder. Then slowly a vague memory returned to him: she had been there last night.

"Barely", he muttered, rubbing the side of his head.

"I hope you're happy with yourself now", she stated coolly, which puzzled him. Had he been disrespectful towards her? If only he could remember!

"Did I behave badly towards you? If so, I apologise", Éomer said, hauling himself to a sitting position. The movement caused him to feel like a hammer stroke against his forehead, and he groaned again.

"Well, you were quite familiar with me", Lothíriel said sourly. "And you nearly spilled out my secret right on the front of your men."

Mortified and angry with himself, Éomer fell down on the bed again. He had been familiar with her! What did that mean? Had he kissed her? Groped her? Great Rider in the sky! No wonder she was cross with him, if he had touched her without her permission, stealing a taste of the sweet things only her husband would ever know. And yet, the traitorous part of his mind agonised over the bitter irony of it. Could his luck be so twisted that the only kiss he would ever get to have with this princess would be when he was wasted out of his mind?

"I truly am sorry", he muttered, rubbing his face with his hand. The least he owed her was an explanation, and so he fought against the feeling of sickness and sat up again. He gazed straight at her, wondering how he must look like to her this moment. He couldn't imagine it being a pleasant vision.

"Lothíriel, if I offended you somehow last night, you must know I did not do it in my right mind. I will not excuse my behaviour. But you should know it was not because I intended this. If I were drunk as an orc last night, it was for a brother in arms", he explained to her slowly. She considered him, not quite convinced by his words.

"A brother in arms? So one of your riders made you drink?" she asked him.

"He's named Swithulf. He's a good, loyal man – few years older than myself. We were celebrating the birth of his son", Éomer said and at the mention of the babe, he smiled briefly. Lothíriel lifted her eyebrows and he continued, "You see, he and his wife have been together for years and they love each other greatly. But years have not been easy on them... they lost their first-born as an infant, and she never conceived again. Not until now, at least. They had a healthy little son only the night before yesterday. I've never seen Swithulf so happy as he was last night."

He could see her expression softening at last, her arms falling by her sides. Then it seemed like a tiny smile touched her face.

"I'll go and get you some willow bark tea", Lothíriel said, turned around and left the chamber.

Éomer blinked. While he was grateful, he had to wonder: did the woman even know how tempting was the gentle sway of her hips?

Truly, this princess was going to be the end of him.

* * *

 _Béma, she's lovely today._

The idle thought came to Éomer while he stood trying to listen to a report by his steward. He had hard time focusing, especially with how wandering eye was drawn to the fairest maiden in the Hall. How did the woman even do it? Was there some spell on him, or did she really seem to grow more and more beautiful with each passing day? Or was he merely falling all over again for her?

Gritting his teeth, the Rohir turned his attention back his steward again, fighting to keep his mind from wandering. It was not easy though, especially when Frithestan had the habit of droning on about things Éomer already knew. This time, it was about the housing and feeding a group of some refugees from East Emnet – their village had been burned to the ground by orcs, but at least Éomer and his Riders had been able to save their lives. Knowing Aldburg was best supplied for caring the people who had just lost their homes, and considering his stores had surplus from previous year's harvest, he had brought them into his own town.

It wasn't that he didn't care about the welfare of these people. His mind just had a way of wandering when _she_ was around.

His eyes wandered too, back to where Lothíriel was seated at one table. Athilda had decided to take down and clean some of the oldest and filthiest banners hanging from the rafters, and a few of them also needed repairs; the hanging Lothíriel was working on was so large it could not be easily tended to anywhere else than the feasting hall. She and two other servants were stitching away, their needles flashing as they worked over the great piece of fabric.

Yes, he was staring again. But what could he do, especially with the way she was tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear? Had he ever seen a colour so shiny and luxurious as hers, as beautiful as the day they had found her on the plains? _It's that blasted hair,_ he thought to himself, unable to hold back the fantasy of going over to her, letting her braids loose, and running his fingers through the dark silk that cascaded down her back...

And then Lothíriel did again that damned thing with her lips, rolling them over her teeth and wetting them in the process... the rosy shade of her mouth glistened in a painfully irresistible fashion, and he had to dig his fingernails into the palms of his hands to prevent himself from just striding to her, grabbing the woman and ravishing her right there on the spot.

"... my lord? My lord! Are you even listening to me anymore?" Frithestan's voice harshly dragged him back to focus. Éomer blinked, remembering again what he was supposed to be doing. Béma, this madness was getting worse and worse!

"Forgive me. I did not mean to ignore you", he said gruffly, moving so that his back was turned towards the cause of his distraction. Clearing his throat, he spoke again, "Please, could you repeat what you were just saying?"

Thankfully, the next distraction did not arrive until after he and the steward were done, and Éomer was thinking of the report he would have to write for his uncle – though honestly speaking, he was not certain the King even read many of them these days. Most likely anything that was composed in his hand was quickly disposed of by Wormtongue.

He was halfway through the hall when sudden commotion at the doors caught his attention, and curiously Éomer turned to see what had caused it. He spotted Swithulf there, surrounded by his friends who served as Riders, and servants of the household. The small bundle he carried explained the reason for excitable chatter and bustle around the man, who was beaming like he were the sun. In the arms of the broad-shouldered Rider, the babe seemed incredibly tiny and frail – and yet the man held the child with the ease and care of a natural father. Éomer could not recall ever seeing Swithulf grinning the way he did as he came inside, holding his son carefully.

With a slight smile, the Marshal changed his course and made for the doorway of the Hall. He knew exactly how important this was to Swithulf – and how proud the man must feel to be able to show his infant son to his friends and comrades.

Way was made for him as he approached, by which time one of the servant women had already snatched the babe from Swithulf's arms. Wryly Éomer thought the infant had just upset Athilda's schedule for servants' chores for the rest of the day.

"Congratulations once more, Swithulf. I would tell you he's a beautiful child, but that would require actually seeing him up close, and there seems to be a line", Éomer commented with a smile, making the Rider chuckle softly under his breath.

"Aye, I expected that. You'd think the father of the child would get to touch the child but there was a line at our house as well", he said, grinning as he spoke.

"How is your wife? Is she recovering well?" Éomer asked.

"Oh, she's fine. Very fine. Both her and the babe are healthy and strong. Sunngifu will be back on her feet in no time", Swithulf said, his smile turning relieved. And no wonder: they both knew how dangerous childbirth could be.

"I'm glad to hear that. Be sure to bring her my regards", said the Marshal and patted the other man's shoulder. He was already fast thinking if he should relieve Swithulf from patrol duties for a while. Most likely the Rider would appreciate staying close to his wife and son at this time.

He was not able to entertain this thought further, because a sudden noise from behind him had him turning: "No, Saethryd! He's not a sack of potatoes. You hold him like _this."_

In a matter of seconds Éomer's mouth went dry. There stood Lothíriel, holding the babe in her arms, her face lit with a delighted smile... and Éomer's mind ran away with him before he even knew it. The picture hit him like a lightning and its impact surely was nearly as tremendous: Lothíriel growing large with his seed and giving birth to a child, a light-haired horselord or a shieldmaiden as fair as herself... ah, Béma! He could see it as though with his waking eyes, her nursing their child in her arms and a few more running about her feet, calling her their mother and him their father. At once, he felt fierce protectiveness for something that did not exist, and immense grief for knowing this image would never be except in his mind.

Why did it have to be so easy for him to picture this entire life just by looking at her, when reasonably thinking he _knew_ it was impossible?

Swithulf noticed his silence and the way he watched the young woman and the child, of course.

"It's a powerful thing, isn't it? Seeing your woman with a babe, and thinking it could be yours... I know that feeling very well", he said softly, his voice full of sympathy. "She looks like she'd be a wonderful mother."

"It doesn't matter what it feels like. She's a servant and a foreigner", Éomer muttered, tearing his gaze away from Lothíriel. There was no sense in tormenting himself any more than he already had. Servant or princess, she was just as unattainable.

The Rider seemed like he was going to say something, but Éomer spoke before he could.

"Forget about it. It's no use on dwelling on things that can't be", he said stiffly, reaching to pat the other man's shoulder once more. "All the best to you and your family, Swithulf."

And with that, he took his leave, trying to fix his mind on the report he still had to write. He already knew it was not going to be easy with the image that now lived in his mind.

Indeed, _nothing_ was going to be easy anymore.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Here's a new update! I don't know if this chapter does much for advancing the plot, but I really didn't know what to cut and what to add, and who doesn't want to see lovesick Éomer squirm a bit? At least, I seem to recall it was rather asked for by one of my readers! :) Anyway, Lothíriel is becoming more aware of what she feels for him and certainly there is a great deal of desire on her part as well. But because she's rather inexperienced in that regard, she's not exactly sure of what is happening to her. He of course has no such problem, but at this point it's only drunkenness that will strip him of his inhibitions. About that - I had lots of fun writing drunk Éomer! :D Poor guy doesn't even remember their first kiss... truth is, this time I didn't want to make it something epic and wonderful.

As for his drunken Rohirric mumblings, let's just say he _really_ loves her eyes.

Also I can't remember which one of you it was, but there was some talk in reviews about Éomer and his preference for dark hair (which I totally believe he has, sue me) - I hope you enjoyed that bit with him thinking about Lothíriel's hair. ;)

I did not remember to tell you guys before, but Rinarwen did a wonderful piece of art from the first chapter of this story. She has plenty of other pieces on Éomer as well, and I heartily recommend checking out her work! You can find her at deviantart by the name of Rohavon. :)

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **A -** Oh, he would like that, but he considers her off limits. He has no idea if she'd actually want to be his wife, or if her family would firmly refuse it.

 **A.M.A -** Thank you! I'm afraid I must keep some reason in the matter of my wordcount!

 **coffeebookchiller -** I don't know how soon we will get there, but things are progressing! Let's just say patience is a good thing with this story - though I'm a bit afraid that after all these suppressed feelings I won't be able to deliver the confession well enough. But we'll see about that, and about how things will go from here.

 **Wondereye -** Yes, the man is under some serious pressure!

 **Talia119 –** Yes, things have got quite heated between them and they only grow to be so. The reason Lothíriel has not yet realised what is what is indeed partly her naivety, but a good deal of it is denial. She clings on this presumption they're just friends because she doesn't yet know how deep his feelings go, and because that friendship has been her biggest comfort in Rohan – it's the one thing that has got her through everything. So because she doesn't yet realise it could become more (and that Éomer wants just that), she's deliberately ignoring the physical tension and attraction between them. As for Éomer, it's not easy for him to be close to her. But I'd like to think it's a mind over matter kind of situation, especially because he already loves her so much and wishes for her well-being. I meant to write something about dealing with being in this situation, but somehow there didn't seem to be a good place for it. I'll try to include that bit in the next chapter.

As for Athilda, I would say it's a hate-love kind of situation for her. There's much about Éomer that she actively dislikes for the sake of his father. However, he is still Théodwyn's son, and for that Athilda is ready to tolerate his resemblance to Éomund. In her point of view, she probably feels like she's still doing service for the dear friend she lost – maybe Théodwyn even pleaded her to look after her children before she died. Not to mention being a chatelaine in the hall of the King's nephew is not a position of small prestige, which is certainly a part of why she stays.

 **Rubandepluie -** I'm glad it was enjoying anyway. :) Lothíriel is being clueless partly because she's naive, and partly because she is trying to ignore what is going on between them. As I said another reply, it's because she doesn't want to lose their friendship, and though she tries not to think about it, she feels acknowledging the tension between them would be the end of that.

 **Anonymous -** I can't really say, though generally I tend not to write anything too explicit.

 **Rinarwen -** *backflips with you*

Poor them indeed! And I remain cruel, refusing to let them see what's what!

I'm glad you enjoyed that bit with Athilda! I didn't want her to be antagonistic "just because", so it's good to hear I've managed to make her sympathetic. :)

I've always felt Éomer is very protective of those he loves. In my mind, it stems from having lost so many of them over the years. And I definitely agree about him feeling things strongly! I guess that's one thing what I love about him so much. He's so alive and his emotions are so strong, though he often tries to veil them (at least in my stories).

Actually, you spelled her name just right! Happy to hear you like Aengifu - she's very pleasant to write about as well!

I shall be excitedly waiting for your drawings, as always! I didn't remember to mention your wonderful piece for the first chapter of this story, but I did now. Hope you don't mind me advertising a bit. :)

 **sailor68 -** Yes, I do seem to be on a sadistic mood right now! Can't say I'm particularly sorry, though. ;)

 **laure -** Thanks! Glad to hear you like it. :) Yes, poor guy is not having the easiest time!

 **coecoe11 -** Here you go!

 **Luthlien -** I'm glad to have provided you with entertainment for such a period of time! Hope you continue to enjoy it as well. :) Thank you for your review!

 **AnonymousLKF -** If I could, I would update every other day. Sadly, this story is a bit more demanding to write and my life situation is also different from before. Anyway, I'm honoured to provide an escape from the real world.

Also I'm really glad to hear I've managed to write Éomer like that. It's pretty much what I was aiming for, so it's good to know I've succeeded.

Always feel free to leave a word or two for a review, if you got time!

 **drhabost -** I totally see where your request is coming from, and I did try to write something like that. But it didn't really go anywhere and to me it seemed too out of place in the context of the story. I suppose it's because I see this so strongly as a story of Lothíriel's exile and my mind is so with her - for her it's not possible to know what's going on in with her family, so I can't write about it. I kind of want her brothers' reactions to come as much as a surprise to my readers as they (will) come to her. Hopefully that makes sense to you somehow.

Still and all, I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

 **Rhiannon A. Christy -** What is so delicious to me is they are both oblivious, just in different ways! Anyway, I'm glad you like it! :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

 _November 3018, East Emnet near the Wold_

They rode into the ambush about an hour after the rain had started to fall.

It was not that Éomer had not known to expect it. For one, the attacks were becoming fiercer and more frequent, and too often now his scouts brought tidings of orc sightings. All day, his mind had been uneasy, sensing something foul in the air. Firefoot had been restless too, and during his years as a Rider he had learned to trust the instincts of Rohirric warhorses.

What he had not foreseen was the number of orcs that fell on them, swarming against their both sides from the grey shadow of rain. But even in this half-light he could see they bore the White Hand upon their crudely made helmets and shields. Éomer growled under his breath, feeling like fire was already coursing through his veins and preparing him for battle. He wasted no time in shouting orders to his men to fall in lines for defence. His Riders were seasoned and brave – they could outsmart the situation to their benefit even with their smaller numbers. And these creatures from Isengard were not well-trained. However, killing innocents was not something orcs needed training for.

Fighting became him naturally. Thrust, parry, slice down – and then the shriek of a dying orc as Éomer loosened his entrails to the world. Firefoot was already moving on to the next enemy, neighing loudly as he carried his master onwards in this sea of screams and blood.

Rain began to pour down harder now, making it more difficult to see, and turning his weapons slippery. There was a whirring sound and Éomer instinctively ducked. He did not see it, but he knew an arrow had just flown where his head had been only seconds ago.

He cursed, pressing closer to his stallion's broad back. Suddenly, a thought ran through his mind, clear as a silver beam of light: _Béma, just let me see her again... I cannot die without kissing her at least once._

His war cry on his lips, powerful and undaunted, he threw himself into the battle.

* * *

The rain had started pouring down again that afternoon, and though night had come, it had yet to show any sign of stopping. This had been the weather for most of the past week and Lothíriel was even thinking she would soon forget how the sun looked like. It was chilly and dismal outside, for which Lothíriel had been glad that she had got to stay close to the ovens for the day. She had been helping out with bread-baking, kneading loaf after loaf and readying them for the ovens. She felt like the smell of fresh bread still clung about her hair and clothes.

Now she was seated by the fire in the Marshal's chambers. He had not yet returned from the patrol, though she had heard him mentioning he should be home by this day. But if he were returning tonight, he would doubtlessly appreciate coming to warm, ready rooms after all that rain. So she had changed the sheets, placed clean dry clothes on the edge of the bed, brought some fresh water, a pitcher of ale and bread still warm from the ovens, and sat by the fire; occasionally, she'd stir it or add some peat to keep the embers going. Was it strange that she was making such effort for his comfort? She did not think so. Lothíriel had decided it was only the least she could do, what with the way Éomer rode out there and put his own life in line to protect others.

A shudder ran down her spine when she thought of that. Assigning the reaction to some chilly current of air, Lothíriel pulled her shawl tighter about herself and wrapped her arms around her knees. She sighed as she thought about the Rohir, wondering when things had got so confusing with him. Before there had been this pleasant friendship between them and she had liked it, because he had made her feel like he valued her opinions and insights. She had enjoyed their talks and the way she suddenly discovered she had a lot to give. Though her grandfather had been adamant on providing her with an extensive education, it was not like she got to use it much back in Dol Amroth. It was life's strange turns and twists that had made some use of her knowledge in this land rather than Gondor.

Be it as may, now things were different with her Rohirric friend. Now the air between them was always charged with some strange currents, and the comfortable conversations became rare. She knew her body definitely reacted whenever he got near, but she thought that was merely because she had never been so close to a man who was not her family member. And Éomer, whether one considered his personality or his presence, _was_ quite a lot to take in – he was a curious and intense mixture of power and gentleness and sadness and warmth. On the top of it, he claimed the space around him with the air of a man no lesser than the kings he was descended from. Even among Rohirrim, he was so unlike anyone she had ever known. No wonder he made her feel so aware she was _female..._

Her cheeks warmed up in an instant. There went her thoughts again, running madly like she was some wild thing! Really, her musings were becoming progressively more addled.

To busy herself with something, Lothíriel got up and added some peat to the fire again. Warming her fingers by the embers, she turned her thoughts towards the city by the sea. How was her father and her brothers? How fared her little nephew Alphros and the sweet frail Aredhel? Did Father ever regret sending her here, and what did her siblings think of this all? She tried to imagine how the months had passed for them in her absence... if they missed her very much.

It occurred to her the thought of home was not as painful as it had been in the start. Lothíriel frowned to herself and looked down at her hands, waiting for the sting of memory. Yet it never came. Oh, she did miss her family, but as she imagined Dol Amroth before her eyes, it did not make her feel like she might choke with tears in seconds. She wondered if she should have felt guilty somehow – if she were betraying them, especially her father. But surely they would want her to find a measure of happiness here? How she would have loved to see him now and tell him everything about the Mark!

With a soft sigh, she took again her seat in the chair and curled up there, listening to the patter of rain against the window shutters and thinking about her sire and brothers. Imagining them here in Aldburg, introducing them to Éomer and all the people she knew here, she eventually dozed off and fell asleep.

The door opening with some clamour was the sound to wake her up. Lothíriel startled and lifted her head, blinking blearily as she attempted to clear her mind of the wholly bizarre dreams she had been having. There had been something about Uncle Denethor riding the world's biggest horse and chasing her across the Mark, but that incredibly strange image fell away when she saw the vision at the door of the chamber.

Éomer stood silent and motionless as if he were a statue. His armour was largely covered in mud and orc blood, or so she guessed by the looks of the darker stains – even his face was dirty. One pauldron had been messily tied to its place with rope, probably due to becoming loose during the battle. In one hand he carried his sword in its scabbard, and in the other he held his helmet. Rainwater had drenched the white horsetail, which was hanging as a dull pale mass. By his feet, a puddle of water was already gathering while steam was starting to emanate from his damp hair in the warmth of the chamber.

That moment, as he stood there as though he had just fought an army or orcs, he looked like he had just stepped out of a song.

"Éomer!" Lothíriel exclaimed, springing to her feet from the chair, "You're home! Is everything all right? Are you hurt?"

Her demanding questions did not receive an answer. He still stood quietly, just staring at her, and in his eyes there was a kind of darkness that might have frightened any other person. But she was not afraid – she'd never be afraid with this man she would have trusted her life with.

And so she approached him, her hands itching to touch him and make sure he was not injured. What was wrong with him? Why did he just keep staring at her?

"What is it? Why aren't you saying anything?" she asked him anxiously, but still no answer came. She reached for his wrist, her fingers brushing against the edge of the vambrace.

There was a loud thud as the scabbard fell from his hand. Almost immediately the sound was followed by another metallic noise when the helmet followed the scabbard and the sword. Her confusion only grew, because she knew those were invaluable objects, not merely as masterfully made heirlooms but also for what they stood for, and she had never seen him handling them so indifferently.

Hands reached for her face, cupping her cheeks in a touch far gentler one might have expected from a man of war. How were they so warm when he had just come from wind and rain?

"Éomer?" she asked again, her voice unsure and quiet now; when she looked up at him, she only saw that unreflective shadow staring back at her. Should she go and get a healer? Or maybe try and find his captain? Had something happened to him out there – something to wound his mind rather than his body?

He moved so abruptly it nearly startled her. One hand slipped in her hair, the other quickly moved behind her neck and down her back. Then she was pulled hard against the armoured shape of a tall Rider, and before she had time to gasp in surprise, a mouth claimed her own in a kiss.

Her mind went blank. She didn't think she could have moved, not even to respond to the kiss. It was more of a clash than anything, almost bruising in its force. Where his lips did not touch hers or her face, his matted beard pressed and rubbed, leaving her skin with a prickling sensation that was between pleasure and pain. There was the smell of sweat, of rain water and earth, of something very male... it was a warrior's kiss, hard and unyielding, and a part of her was _screaming_ to answer... but she stayed still, even as a hand dipped as low as her bottom and cupped her tight, holding her against him.

Her squeal ended it. Whether the sound was in shock or resistance or excitement, Lothíriel could not have said. All she knew was he had kissed her, and it had been nothing like that drunken catastrophe back on the night he had been drinking with his comrades. This was not her having to shut him up and them fumbling at each other because she had never kissed anyone before and he was wasted out of his mind. This was all him, fresh from the battle. Was this the way he had kissed Brithwen?

The clouding shadow was gone and for the briefest seconds she saw horror in Éomer's eyes. For one reason or the other, that one look hit her like a dagger. He hadn't meant... she was not...

"Forgive me, Lothíriel, I... I shouldn't have done that", he said, pushing past her sharply, his voice muffled and hoarse. She couldn't answer, for her voice had died in her throat. She could guess all too well the reason for his apology, and for the look in his eyes only seconds ago. He had imagined she was someone else, maybe Brithwen or some other woman, but certainly not _her._ Not Lothíriel.

"It's fine", she answered eventually. How she was able to sound so collected, she had no idea. Deciding cool, polite manners were the best she could do now, she asked, "Will you be requiring anything, my lord?"

Éomer stood again quiet, his back turned towards her. When he answered, his own voice was about as colourless as hers.

"I would like to be alone."

"Of course. Good night", she said and dashed outside before anything worse could take place.

* * *

Lothíriel quickly decided joining her friends in their shared chamber was not an option, not before she had calmed down at least. They would know, Derehild especially, that something was wrong if she showed up now. She really wasn't in the mood of explaining anything.

Thankfully, it was late already and at this time there were plenty of places in the Hall one could find some peace at. So, her arms wrapped tight about herself, as she hoped that might help with the shaking of her hands, she strode to the feasting hall and sought the benches by the wall, just under her favourite tapestry that showed Eorl the Young. It was so dark there one would have had to grope around the shadow to know she was there.

Her heart was still beating fast when she pulled her knees against her chest and bowed her head against them. Small shivers kept passing through her and somewhere at the back of her throat a sob was growing, though she swallowed hard to keep it inside. And yet on her lips, the memory of the kiss was still burning, like fire searing her flesh. Elbereth! She shouldn't have let him done that, should have...

While Lothíriel would have been the first one to admit her life before Rohan had been very sheltered, and she still wasn't the most worldly individual, she was not as innocent as her family might have thought. For one, though the servants of her father's household had not often shared gossip with her, she would have had to be deaf and blind not to learn a few things from them.. And then there were her brothers: she knew Erchirion and Amrothos sometimes went out to meet women of Dol Amroth who were not as pedantic about their reputations as daughters of lords were supposed to be. She had never expected the Marshal to be anything different, especially after what he had told her about how Rohirrim regarded relations between men and women – she just assumed it was a part of being a young, dashing lord in the realms of free Men. And then there was the matter of warriors returning from battle...

It was just what battle did to men sometimes, or so she had once heard from one of the servants who was married to a Swan Knight. They saw things in the middle of a fight, their friends fell, they had brushes with death. And when they came back, they needed to feel alive.

And Éomer had looked like he had been to a particularly vicious battle. That was why he had kissed her... she had just been the first woman he came across. He had needed to reassure himself he was still breathing.

However, that did not explain the day by the stream, or the night he had been drunk. She breathed in and out, knowing exactly what it meant. She had known all along, but had tried to ignore and deny it – she had just wanted to hold on to their friendship, and maybe if she pretended nothing had changed, then things would go back to way they used to be? But he wanted her indeed, and after tonight even she couldn't claim otherwise. Yet it was like with Amrothos and the women he dallied with: she was nothing more but an object of lust for the Rohir. However, he was sensible enough to know she could not give this to him, and so he kept pulling back.

In the end, what else should she have expected, considering the way they had to be near each other so much? It had been inevitable that something like this should happen, and she had just merrily ignored it – ignored the slow but sure change in their relationship. Still, she wondered why it had to be so... so _painful._ Why should she care about this so much? Why did she have to miss their conversations so much, and the feeling of being so at ease with him? Be it as may, whenever had her wants and desires meant anything to the cruel fates that pushed her to this path?

The reason for the pain occurred to her soon enough. She wanted his company, his friendship, because otherwise she would be unbearably lonely. It was a kind of loneliness her servant friends could not help with, not as long as she was just Daerien to them. Biting her lip, she wondered if it were selfish or dangerous to attach herself to him like that, if he only saw her as a woman he wanted to bed...

And there were tears again, burning her eyes afresh. Angrily she wiped them before they could fall. Elbereth damn the males of the world! And damn her stupid, twisted luck for ruining all the good things she had in her life! Here she was, far away from home and family, losing the only true friend she had in this place... was it really so much to ask to just have one thing he could take comfort in?

The silent tears came anyway, despite her attempt to fight them. And quietly she wept, there in the shadows of the Marshal's Hall, until the very breaking of her heart.

* * *

When Lothíriel had gone, it took Éomer several minutes to get himself moving again – when he was able to do so, he began to mechanically take off his armour, which was in the serious need of cleaning. His mind was in a strange haze of euphoria and horror, and both were because he _had_ kissed her. Against his better judgement, he had gone to her, pulled her body to him... Béma! Her smell still lingered about him, her familiar spicy scent with an added whiff of freshly baked bread. It was a fragrance that spoke to the most fundamental, the most profound parts of him. It induced something like a need to protect her, share all the mundane and all the wonderful things with her, and make sure she was happy. And that confused him more than he could ever have said.

He knew he should have gone after her, make better apologies, and try to explain why he had done it... but then, how could he explain what he had felt when he had seen her curled up in the chair, so sweet and calm, and the only thing he had been able to think of was that thought that had hit him in the middle of the battle? That he could not die without kissing her at least once? And then she had come to him, so trustful and unaware of the storm raging in him... or maybe she _had_ known what state of mind he was at, but had not been afraid.

That moment his body had a mind of its own, and so Éomer had reached for her and pulled her to him. Béma, kissing her was just the sweet agony he had imagined it would be, and even now his body threatened to grow hard at the mere thought of the taste of her lips. Something primal had nearly taken over then, demanding him to rip off everything that still was between them, and have her right there on the floor. No wonder what had happened had been out of his control, at least until the moment she let out a small startled sound. Hearing it he had snapped back to focus, immediately mortified. Lothíriel had never answered the kiss... the look on her face when he stepped back... in less than a second, the horror of what he had just done had come to him. Morgoth's balls, what must she think of him now!

And even if she had allowed it, that was _not_ how it was supposed to go. Their first kiss – their only kiss – should not have been a clumsy drunken disaster or a hard, almost violent clash that frightened her. She was a maiden, sweet and pure, and when one kissed her, it should be with time and care and gentleness.

In weary frustration, Éomer let his chain-mail fall on a chair, feeling tiredness deep in his bones. Looking around the chamber, he saw it was recently cleaned. On the table, a pitcher of ale waited and from a bundle next to it he found some fresh bread – not warm anymore, but its scent was new and strong. When he glanced into the bedroom, he noticed the clothes laid on the edge of the bed. Mortification and bitterness washed over him and he fell to sit by the fire, burying his face in his hands. She had obviously seen all this effort to welcome him back, and he had behaved like a thankless brute, grabbing her as though she were some common wench!

 _Béma, I will never succeed in doing right by her, will I?_

* * *

 _Five days later_

When Théodred's summons for help had Éomer riding out once more, perhaps for weeks, Lothíriel was torn between relief and regret. It was a relief because things had been unbearably tense ever since the kiss, and yet she missed him a great deal when he was away. Once more she was left grieving the friendship which now seemed irretrievably lost, and her heart was aching with the prospect of being alone again. It was at this time she truly understood just how much she had valued his companionship, and how painful was its loss.

Be it as may, there were moments she wondered what would have happened if she had not been so shocked – if she had just answered the kiss. Where would it have taken them? Would she now be a Rohirric Marshal's concubine, or would they have been able to stop before it was too late? Truthfully, she did not much trust herself in that regard. Éomer was too intense, he impacted her too deeply. If he truly wanted, he could make her say yes forwards and backwards and upside down. And the state of mind he had been in just then... she didn't think he would have had the necessary willpower to stop, either. Even now, she shivered as she remembered how he had stared her, his eyes full of something dark and hungry. And the way rainwater had been dripping from his hair and armour, his hands cupping her face before he kissed her, and the raw _aliveness_ he had breathed... just the memory had her blood rising in a dangerous way, and she had to bow her head in embarrassment at her own thoughts. The ways she was thinking of this man! It was not proper of a Gondorian lady, and certainly not in regards to a man of Rohan!

But whatever she had been taught, however she had been brought up, this she could not help: she wanted Éomer just as badly as he apparently wanted her. And the longer she stayed here, the harder it was getting for them both to keep things at least resembling proper. Truly, she had been too long in Rohan; once the idea of such desire unaccompanied by love had been wholly foreign to her. Yet here she was, growing less and less like the girl she had once been, and becoming something strange and wild. That something was not even Daerien, but someone new entirely – someone whose reactions to things and whose thoughts could entirely take her by surprise.

She could only wonder how far this change would go before Father summoned her back home... and if her family might even recognise her by the time she returned. At the very least, she now knew there was no going back to her old life, to her old duties and habits. For without her or Éomer's intention, some things in her had been broken, perhaps as early as the dark days she had spent alone in the wild. The days in Aldburg had altered them further, turning her own thoughts into strangers. Only now she had started to realise how impossible it would be to mend it, or to mend the person she was not anymore. Yet she did not feel regret for herself, but rather for her father, who could not have guessed what would happen to his daughter once she came as an exile to Rohan. There were times she wondered if she even was fit for living in Gondor anymore.

Nonetheless days passed and the year grew old, With it grew also her homesickness even despite her knowledge that she could not return to her home as she knew it – when Éomer was so often away, or acting distant when he was at home, Lothíriel felt almost as lonely as she had been at the time she had first arrived in Aldburg. Though she had become good friends not only with him but also with the three servant girls, she could not trust them like she had trusted him – and still did trust him. Deep in her heart, she knew that no matter how their relationship had changed, he would keep his word and keep her safe still.

Around Mid-November, Théodred Prince came to Aldburg once more as he accompanied Éomer from their joined campaign against a band of raiding Dunlendings. Lothíriel did not remember their previous encounter with any particular fondness, though she had a feeling the King's son was not anymore keen on finding out the truth about her. At least, Éomer had told her his cousin seemed to guess much, but he could be trusted to keep it to himself. And if the Marshal judged it was so, then she trusted his assessment.

Still, she was not surprised when she came across him at the night of his arrival in the town. Due to the presence of the Prince and his riders, the Hall was quite full that evening; wryly she thought to herself all this might have seemed very intimidating and strange to her, hadn't she lived among these people for so many months already. She did not feel so desperately awkward anymore when she channelled through the swaying crowd, or was momentarily pressed against some tall and broad rider. At times, she entertained herself by imagining her sister-in-law Aredhel caught in the middle of this crowd – though she was fully aware the delicate noblewoman would not have lasted in Rohan even for as long as a month. As for her brothers – well, Amrothos would probably have loved it here.

It was during her attempt to make to the mead casks that she more or less collided with the Crown Prince. Momentarily she was pressed tight against him, and she noted he wasn't so warm or hard or broad as Éomer. But his hand was steady and strong as he used it to keep her from falling.

"Thank you, my lord", she said and blushed. Trust her warped luck to bring her colliding with this man!

"It's quite fine, lass", Théodred said, his eyes sharply fixed on her. Lothíriel wanted to move along, because even now he still had a way of making her uneasy, though she knew he could be trusted. But before she could excuse herself, he spoke once more, "So, you and my cousin."

"What about us, my lord?" she asked him warily. The Prince might be trustworthy but that didn't prevent him from making his own assumptions. And he had no reason to like her. Perhaps he'd even agree with Lady Éowyn, if he knew the truth... she had yet to meet Éomer's sister, but it had never stopped bothering her to know Éowyn did not particularly want her here, even if it were not personal.

"I must admit I was surprised to hear about your liaison with Éomer. In fact, at first I didn't believe the rumours. You don't seem like his type", he stated with proper Rohirric bluntness and seeming like he had much awaited getting to talk to her about this. The man might look like one of her own people, but he surely spoke like an Eorling!

"With all due respect, my lord, he decides what's his type", Lothíriel said to the man before her.

Her words made Théodred smile wryly. Apparently he didn't think she was rude or disrespectful.

"Tell me, what are your intentions towards him, lass?" he asked her then, regarding her keenly.

She had to control her face very carefully. Here she was, being questioned by the Crown Prince of Rohan about her intentions towards his kinsman! One might have thought she was out to tarnish his virtue. First she thought she would have to tell that to Éomer, thinking it would amuse him, but then she remembered how he was avoiding her now, and her mood dampened.

"I have no intentions, Lord. I just try to serve him the best I can", she said and looked away.

"That is very loyal of a foreigner", Théodred noted. At least he had the grace not to mention Gondor.

"Lord, how could I not be loyal to someone who has treated me so well and so kindly?" she said and looked straight at the prince now. Silently he met her eyes, considering her as though he only now really saw her.

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes slightly. Then, leaning closer, he asked in a low voice, "Lass, if you were asked to stay here in the Mark for good, what would you say?"

"I... I do not know. The matter is not just up to me", she said in a strained voice, so that he had to lean even closer to hear her. She did not feel comfortable with him so close, but this was not exactly a conversation she wanted anyone hearing. Why would he ask her this? What was his intention behind these words?

"But if it were?" he demanded to know, his voice insistent.

"... I might consider it", Lothíriel said, lowering her eyes once more. Why had she said that? Yes, her time in Rohan might have irrevocably changed her, made her unfit to be a princess again, but it wasn't like she could choose against going home once that day came. Her family was back in Dol Amroth and so was her real life... even if it seemed like only a half-remembered dream now.

Théodred Prince moved back again. There was a strange look on his face, almost like a smile. The man seemed like he had been having another conversation entirely, one she was not even aware of participating.

"Well, as Éomer's cousin – and as his brother – I suppose I should tell you to be good to him. If you make him unhappy, Éowyn will not be very pleased with you, and I can assure you she's not someone you wish to cross", Théodred stated then, and she had absolutely no idea whether he was jesting or not.

"Duly noted, my lord", Lothíriel said anyway and curtsied.

The Crown Prince nodded at her and then passed her by, leaving her rather confused and uncertain. She still felt there had actually been going two conversations, and Éomer's cousin had picked up much more than he had shown. But whatever he made of it and what were the things he had been looking for in her words... she could only guess.

Lothíriel had forgotten about getting a drink, and so she returned to the table where her servant friends were seated. Absent-mindedly she sat down beside Saethryd, her mind still fixed on her exchange with the Prince moments ago.

"What did Théodred Prince want with you?" Saethryd asked her, making her look up.

"I don't know, really", Lothíriel answered truthfully. "He's a strange man."

"Oh, tell me about it. Let us just say it's not a wonder the man never married", Aengifu said, leaning over the table and looking at them pointedly.

"Blasted Daerien, always showing off your pretty hair when bachelors are around", Saethryd said for her part and leaned closer to the princess with a pout on her face. "Are you aware it is terribly unfair of you to hog all the males of the royal line to yourself?"

"Saethryd! It's not like that. I don't think he even likes me much", Lothíriel said, blushing deeply.

The serving maid burst in giggles and slapped her shoulder in a friendly fashion.

"Oh, never change, Daerien!" she said brightly, leaving the other young woman feeling as dumbfounded as ever. Would a day ever come she would grow accustomed to Saethryd's sense of humour? She seriously doubted that.

With the approaching winter, Yuletide came nearer as well. This probably played a part in dampening her mood: it was the first time she spent this midwinter's celebration away from her home and family. To feel at least a bit closer to them – and to distract herself from thoughts considering certain Marshal – she went through the preparations for the feast in her head, imagining all the bustle and hurry that surely was filling the halls of the castle by the sea. There would be smell of pies and pastries baking in the ovens, of flowers fresh from the greenhouses, and the feasting hall of the princes would gleam and shine after it was scrubbed clean and polished. Sweet wines would be served, great lords and ladies twirl around dressed in their best, and all the world would be free of care for precious few nights. However, her seat in Father's table would remain empty, and as far as his courts knew, she was long dead in the sea.

Preparations in Aldburg were not entirely different, and Athilda had the entire household turned upside down. Hangings were aired, meats were produced and fixed, and the ovens in the kitchens blazed from dawn till dusk. Though the chatelaine had been leaving Lothíriel alone since Éomer's threat to dismiss her, no one among the servants was spared from hard work.

"I swear, Athilda always goes a bit mad before Yuletide", Aengifu groaned one morning two weeks before the feast when they were getting up before dawn.

"Just a bit mad? The woman's been insane for the better part of this month", Saethryd grumbled. She made a face at Lothíriel, "I don't understand why you're even here, when you could spend the night with the Marshal and wake up at some less ungodly hour."

"He didn't require my presence last night", the princess muttered, struggling not to sound dejected. Truth was, she missed him. Or, she missed spending time with him. She didn't quite dare to decide which one it was, and at any rate what did it matter? He owed her nothing.

"Hmph. Maybe he's going mad, too. He has to, if he's able to refuse the opportunity of forgetting", Derehild said under her breath. The words held little humour, for each of them knew all too well what was afoot in the kingdom. With all the talk of war and shadow, it was easy to believe there was little sense left in the world. A tight, choking feeling grew in Lothíriel's throat as she tried to focus on braiding her hair; she did not dare to confront the eyes of her friends. Surely they were wondering if Éomer was growing weary of her, and was thinking of replacing her...

Then, three days before the great feast, snow began to fall. As it was the first time in her life she saw such phenomenon, Lothíriel had hard time hiding her eagerness to get a closer look; if she were supposed to have come from the western fields, then this would not be new to her. Even so, seeing snow for the first time managed to cheer her up somewhat, and she wished her brothers and nephew could have been here to see it as well – especially Amrothos and little Alphros would surely have shared her excitement. Fondly she smiled as she thought of her brother running around in the snow, participating the snow fights between the children of the town, and Alphros waddling after him... she thought even her mild-mannered, venerable father would have loved to see it.

Thoughts of home, of her wonder at snow, fell away with the arrival of Éomer – he was returning from some errand to the markets of the town. For one reason or the other, breath caught in her throat: there were snowflakes in his hair and on the fur-rim of his cloak, yet with his golden hair he seemed as though a wild ray of sun, straying in the middle of winter and somehow bringing a measure of warmth into the middle of chilly air. Many times she had noticed how unlike the noble lords of Gondor he was, and yet she did not remember ever watching them as long or as keen as she did this horselord.

His eyes fell on her, catching her unawares. The stare he gave her went straight through her, travelled in her veins, and settled in the pit of her stomach. Breathless, she turned her eyes away, fighting against the feeling like knots were being tightened in her belly. What was this man doing to her? How could simple lust turn her very heart upside down?

 _It's not the first time you feel this ache, is it? It has grown slowly and surely, and it is not mere lust anymore._

She remembered standing before him one time, his thumb brushing against he cheek, rubbing away ash. Lothíriel had spent minutes just trying to get back her breath and senses. And later on, the first time they had hugged without his armour on the way... the memory of his warmth, the heat glowing through the linen shirt, still had her heart pounding in most peculiar way. And then that day by the stream, when she had rushed to his side, only to be grabbed and pinned down by him... even the memory made her short of breath and the blood in her veins heated up in a most unusual fashion. Oh, and what about that kiss! Sometimes, she thought she could still feel it burning her lips. She had felt it then, though she had not tried to deny it: Éomer was dangerously, _grievously_ attractive. But desire was one thing, and in her heart she did not want merely his body. She wanted his mind, his heart, his _soul._ She wanted to make him smile and laugh, share silly jokes with him, and wanted to debate with him and spar with him by words. She wished to teach him what she knew and learn his wisdom in turn. She craved to kiss him until he saw stars, to drive him mad with her touch, but she also wanted to know his world, his griefs, his joys. She wanted to know what he thought about things, what were his fondest memories, what were the places he liked most.

A man can be fair to look upon, but it's another thing when he's so kind, so honest, so _good._

As she stole one more glance of the man who had promised to keep her safe, she came face to face with the truth she had tried to reject. She was falling for him and there was nothing she could do about it. Deep down, she knew there was nothing she _wanted_ to do about it.

She was falling for him _hard._

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** *leans chin on hands* There you go, my dear readers. Hope you enjoyed this new chapter!

It was going to take a bit more time for Lothíriel to figure out what's going on, but she's getting there now, and she definitely is very aware of the ever thickening physical tension between them. But like I said earlier, she has been deliberately trying to ignore this change in their relationship, because she doesn't think he could love her. We'll see how that goes!

Those of you who follow me at tumblr will already know about this, but I guess I should talk about it here too. Though I usually have a pretty cohesive idea of where I want the story to go and where it will end, I must admit _A Long and Winding Road_ has done something pretty weird: there's an alternative version very different from what I had originally planned, and it's growing on me as we speak. I still haven't decided which route I want to go, and that may slow down my updates, because we are soon getting to the point where the two plotlines begin to diverge. I know, you don't like news of my updates coming slower. But it's entirely depending on how quickly I can make the decision and choose which version I will follow.

Also as a sidenote, though Lothíriel doesn't realise it, Théodred might now be just slightly shipping Éothiriel. ;)

By the way, **Rohavon** at deviantart has done another piece for this story (this time from Chapter 2), which I'm loving very much. Go and check her works!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **drhabost -** Thank you! It surely reassures me to know you think so. And you are right, it's not always necessary to have these plot-heavy chapters. Sometimes it's just fun to explore the characters a bit!

 **Irgendwer -** Glad to deliver! Thanks! :)

 **Sweetcake rainbow -** Your review made me smile, so no way I'm shutting you up! :D Happy to know you enjoy this so much.

 **malfoy lea -** Good to hear you liked it! I must admit, I rather enjoy it when I get to write his softer side - or Lothíriel's badass side! :D

I agree about longer stories! Like you said, you get to enjoy them longer, and there always seems to be things you didn't notice the first time. Though it takes more time to write these longer chapters, it definitely is more fulfilling - I think - for both the writer and the readers.

As for the timeline, we are now getting closer to the year 3019, when things begin to go down!

 **Madam X -** And I had writing lovesick Éomer! :D

 **Rhiannon A. Christy -** And they continue to be more or less oblivious. :) But at least they both are now aware what they are feeling for each other, so maybe things will move forward some time soon. Indeed, poor guy is not having a most pleasant time, even with the real kiss!

 **Rubandepluie -** Yes he is! But it's so new to him - he has not been so in love before, so the poor darling doesn't really know what to do with himself, or her.

Glad you liked that little moment!

 **Anonymous -** Oh, he is! It was fun to write him like that. Still is, in fact! :)

I have watched Vikings, including that first season. But it's been some years, and I can't say I was consciously quoting anybody. Maybe it just came back to me and I thought it was my own invention? Anyway, thanks for pointing that out, because I had totally missed it. I also added a disclaimer in the following chapter.

 **Thalia -** Yes, I remember you mentioning that before.

 **A -** It comes when it will!

 **coecoe11 -** Thanks! Hope you enjoy this update. :)

 **Anon -** Thanks for your review! I'm happy to know you are enjoying the story so much. I hope I keep fulfilling your expectations. :)

I tend to finish my stories, so no worries. And I'm definitely driven to complete this one too! Depending on how quickly I'm able to decide which plotline to use, there should not be too big delays.

 **Wondereye -** I'm not sure I understand what you mean? In any case, I don't think Éomer's second in command Éothain or Elfhelm would be intervening with his love life too much.

 **Anon -** Let's not get ahead of ourselves! There are still some months to go before the events of the Ring War, and right now both Lothíriel and Éomer are firmly placed in Aldburg. As to what will happen in Dol Amroth if and when she returns - well, that will have to wait for now!

 **Rinarwen -** Yes, that woman is not very happy about how things have turned out! But she's not at all like Sapat. I'm weirdly satisfied to know he made such an impression on you. :D

Oh yes, poor guy is indeed having hard time with his lady love!

 **AnonymousLKF -** Thank you! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Yule came at last, ushering the year to its end. The morning of day before celebrations new snow fell to cover Aldburg and the lands it commanded, arraying the landscape in white raiment. Looking around herself, Lothíriel had hard time believing so many months had already passed since she had left Dol Amroth. It seemed like a dream now, while the Riddermak became more real with each passing day. Sometimes she even wondered if she would ever see her home again. In any case, there was not going back to what used to be – not when Rohan had already changed her so much.

Generally, the mood in the town was a rather joyful one, despite – or because of – the recent events at the borders of the realm. Not all were on a feasting mood, though. Derehild had not smiled much ever since Éomer's men had brought Wulfgar back after he had been badly wounded in battle. What free time she got she spent by the side of her betrothed, and she was mostly quiet when the young women were working together. At least Wulfgar was healing well, and it was likely he would make a full recovery.

Lothíriel's attempts to join the merrymaking as enthusiastically as Saethryd and Aengifu were mostly half-hearted. Partly it was because of thoughts of home, but she couldn't pretend a fairly significant amount of her resigned mood had to do with certain horselord.

Things had been growing more and more tense between them for a long time, but the night he had returned from patrols and they had kissed had truly changed everything. She could not cling even to their previous friendship anymore – things had moved far past such easy relationship. But how could there ever be anything between them again, when she loved him so and yet all he had for her was desire? At least, she didn't know how else she should take it when Saethryd whispered to her two days before Yule: "Your Marshal is staring at you again! What have you done to that man?"

Indeed, a quick careful glance from the corner of her eye confirmed what her friend had said was true: Éomer, seated in one of the tables of the Hall, _was_ staring at her. He looked like he was attempting to devour her with his eyes, and against her better judgement she felt a thrilled shiver run down her spine. She was not so entirely naive that she did not understand what such a stare meant, nor was she immune to its impact. At least she knew it would be terribly unwise to succumb to this sensation.

Be it as may, the matter bothered her mind a great deal. She couldn't help but wonder about him, and if it were indeed just desire. Could there be something more to it, or was that just wistful thinking? The idea that someone so battle-hardened as Éomer might desire her was already quite the absurd thought – to even presume he might have feelings for her was just ridiculous. As to whether she should ask him about it... well, first of all she had no idea what she should even say to him. And if she did, it might just ruin what was left of their relationship. Not to mention, after all this Lothíriel did not know if she could handle a rejection. She had enough to deal with as it was, and she really didn't need him laughing at her face for being so stupid.

But it did not have to mean she couldn't find out about his feelings some other way. Only, she was not so sure what that other way might be. Thankfully, she happened to know some more worldly people than herself, Saethryd perhaps chief among them – compared to Aengifu and Derehild, she was more likely to understand a situation where a measure of intrigue might be necessary. And so, about an hour after the little staring incident, she approached her friend with the question in her mind.

"Saethryd... I need your advice with something", she started carefully, trying not to fidget her hands.

"Of course. What is it?" asked Saethryd as she piled dirty dishes from tables in order to bring them to the kitchens.

Lothíriel bit the insides of her cheeks in an attempt not to cringe. How to put her question in words without sounding ridiculous? She really didn't want Saethryd laughing at her face.

So she took a deep breath and tried to speak in coherent sentences: "It's just... how do you find out whether... whether someone is fond of you?"

The blonde girl looked at her with an intrigued expression and laid down the tankard she had been handling.

"Are we talking about the Marshal? Lass, isn't it obvious, considering the circumstances? A man doesn't share his bed with a woman unless he likes her", she pointed out, considering Lothíriel with curious eyes.

"Not that, Saethryd! What I mean is... you see, I want to know if he has feelings for me", said the princess. And there she went again, blushing as was her wont. One might have thought she would have long since got rid of that habit, but apparently even months in Rohan would not take it away from her

Be it as may, her friend grinned as a look of understanding dawned in her bright eyes.

"Ahh! Of course! Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?" Saethryd asked enthusiastically, pulling the other woman sit down with her.

"Um, I thought I did", Lothíriel muttered somewhat glumly. She was starting to wonder if this were a good idea after all.

"You need to learn to speak more clearly, dear", Saethryd told her emphatically and patted her shoulder. "Now, can't you go and ask him? You two have been together for a while now, so surely you could talk about it?"

"I'm afraid that's not an option", Lothíriel said, staring hard at her hands. "For one, I have no idea of what I would even say."

The blonde serving maid regarded her with slightly narrowed eyes, stroking her chin thoughtfully.

"If you can't ask him, then there is one almost sure way to find out. Make him jealous", Saethryd said, much to the other woman's shock.

"Absolutely not! I can't do that. It wouldn't be right", Lothíriel said heatedly. She couldn't even count all the ways it would be wrong. She was not going to manipulate her dear friend in such a way, nor involve some unsuspecting man in her stupid situation just because she didn't dare to ask. And really, the things she would have to do in order to make Éomer feel jealousy... even a simple hug to someone else seemed like too much for her tastes. To kiss anybody else was just unthinkable – and that was not only because she did not want her first real kiss, one she entered out of her own will in a situation that did not require shutting up drunk horselords, to be with someone she didn't even know.

"Hmph! Why do you always have to be so proper?" Saethryd complained, shaking her head in exasperation. "Daerien, if you're not willing to ask him, then you must play dirty. And making him jealous is the easiest way to find out. Unless he's just possessive, in which case it doesn't really answer your question."

"That is very helpful, Saethryd", Lothíriel muttered and made a face. This conversation had not got her anywhere, and certainly not closer in the slightest to finding out what Éomer truly thought about her.

"I swear to Béma, you're starting to sound just like Derehild. You and her have been spending too much time together", Saethryd grumbled for her part and got up again, returning to her earlier task of loading dishes for washing.

"It could be worse. I could be starting to sound like you", Lothíriel quipped, knowing the other woman would appreciate the jest. Indeed, her friend chuckled and slapped her shoulder in a comradely fashion. But behind her humour, Lothíriel's mind was everything but easy, and she was left wondering just how she was going to discover whether her feelings were answered on Éomer's part.

As such, though her mood was not exactly set on feasting, the proposition by Saethryd and Aengifu on the day before Yule did come as a welcome one. This was because what they suggested offered her a chance to get out of the Hall, if only for one night.

"You see, it's one of those traditions so old no one can remember when it was started. The young people go down to the plains on the night before the Yule celebrations begin, and bonfires are burned to lay the sun of the old year to rest, and to make way for the new one", Aengifu explained.

"And there will be liquor and handsome young Riders", Saethryd added with a grin.

"Well, that means you and Daerien have no business down there", Aengifu quipped, her eyes glinting with amusement. "I don't think Folcred is going to be very pleased with you if you chase after other lads. And do correct me if I'm wrong, but the Marshal doesn't strike me as a man to share his spoils."

Saethryd wrinkled her nose and linked arms with the princess.

"A woman can appreciate the sight of a fine stallion without trying to mount him", she said sagely.

"That is very true", Aengifu had agreed with a splutter of giggles.

"Béma, you two are just ridiculous when Derehild is not around", Lothíriel had commented to that, rolling her eyes, but her words just made her friends laugh even harder.

"Daerien, are you aware of how Rohirric you are starting to sound? We just need to work a little on your attitude, but you are getting there", Saethryd had said, looking at her like a proud mother.

More banter had followed that statement, and overall Lothíriel had found her mood somewhat lifted. So, after Athilda had dismissed them for the night, the three girls dressed in their warm cloaks and heavy winter boots, and they started to make their way for the outskirts of the town. Both her friends were being very glad and humorous, laughing and jesting as they walked down the hill. They were not the only ones with the intention of joining the company – on their way, they saw quite a few of the young folk making their way for the bonfires, some of which already gleamed against the growing shadows of evening.

As they walked and sounds of happy laughter filled the air, Lothíriel felt like some burden had fallen from her shoulders, or at least the weight of it was easier to bear. Perhaps she would be able to enjoy this evening, after all... and something told her it would be a night to remember.

* * *

One of Éomer's earliest memories was of Yuletide. He had been a small child at the time, but he could still recall the warmth of the Hall, Father's laughter booming somewhere close, and Mother's radiating smiles as she passed among the guests to bid them welcome. Though most of it was just flashes and impressions, it was a happy memory and light one. There was sense of security to it and a sense of childlike wonder – things that somehow lived especially strong in this one memory.

He had seen many Yules since then, but after the death of their parents he never managed to recapture that same feeling. As years passed and he grew angrier and more shut inside his own walls, he knew the memory of Yule was something irretrievably lost. He was well aware it was a time of celebration and joy for most of Rohirrim, one occasion when all worldly cares were laid aside to welcome the new year, but for him it had always signified things that were gone and time that could not be regained.

Be it as may, Éomer kept his thoughts to himself, and at any rate he could take a measure of joy in seeing how happy and glad his folk were on the eve of the celebrations. Not to mention, the efforts his household had put into the feast surely deserved appraisal. Though she was prone to keeping irrational grudges, one could not find fault in Athilda's capability of arranging a magnificent celebration. He had been away for the most of the preparations, hunting orcs in dismal weathers. At the time they had returned to Aldburg, it had seemed like some kind of an extensive but orderly storm had passed through the Hall, leaving it spotless and shining, ready for Yuletide. For the most of his people and especially for his riders, it was a welcome thing. And who could blame them?

As any inhabitant of Aldburg, Éomer knew the celebrations of Yuletide would already be started tonight, however informally. For down on the plains, young folk would go and make merry around great bonfires in the honour of the new Sun. While he technically qualified for participating, he had not done so in a few years – partly because Brithwen had not much liked it, and partly because of his position. Even so, from years ago he could remember several rather legendary nights, and as he walked from the smithery towards his Hall, he smiled at memories of his younger days. There were moments he missed that time; everything had been easier then, and he had not felt his duty so heavily as it now rested on his shoulders.

His reminiscing came to a close when he arrived at the courtyard of his Hall, and he saw one familiar face coming his way. There was Derehild, one of Lothíriel's servant friends. He guessed the girl had come to see Heagyth and get some healing herbs for Wulfgar, who was still recovering from some rather serious injuries. The lass smiled slightly and stopped to curtsy at him when she saw the lord of the hall, and Éomer smiled too in response.

"Good evening, Derehild", he greeted her. "How is Wulfgar?"

"He has seen better days, my lord, but he is determined to get better", answered the serving maid in a soft, solemn voice. She always seemed very serious, as far as he had seen.

"Do you think he will feel well enough to join tomorrow's feast? I would like to see you both there", he said, and her smile widened ever so slightly.

"He was talking about it earlier, my lord. We shall see how he fares tomorrow. Of course we would like to come, but we need to be careful lest his wounds open again", Derehild answered.

"Of course. If either of you needs anything, you only need to ask", Éomer told her firmly. "Wulfgar is a good man. I would rather have him horseback sooner rather than later."

"Of course, my lord", Derehild replied and looked away.

For a moment Éomer hesitated. A certain question was on his mind, willing to be spoken out loud. Derehild was _her_ friend...

Past few weeks, Éomer had tried to avoid Lothíriel's company. It was not that he did not crave for her presence – in fact, her absence had left him feeling hollow and grim more often than not. Before, being alone had not been a problem. Now it felt more than just having no company. Now it seemed like the very silence, the place where she was supposed to be, was howling and raging and tearing and demanding to be filled with _her_ essence. And there was that _want,_ which seemed to live in his bones now, and it would roar and stir whenever he saw her and noticed a thousand thing about her that spoke to parts of him which were fundamentally _male._ It was agony sometimes, having to fight these desires; he didn't even have to wonder about what had happened in that one village in Eastemnet when his éored had successfully thwarted an orc attack there. He had met one very grateful young woman and she had invited him to her bed, which he had accepted, for since his sixteenth summer he had never gone this long without a bedmate. Yet he should have known how the affair would turn out: in the middle of it his traitorous mind had run ahead, and then in he was picturing it was _her_ under him, breathing rapidly and holding him tight. The mere idea had pushed him over the edge in a matter of seconds.

However, as painful as it was to keep away from the princess and refuse all that she invoked, Éomer knew it was necessary. He loved her too much... and he wanted her too much. And he knew he had no right to ask her to answer any of that. The best he could do was to stay away as much as possible. He had already crossed some boundaries that should have remained untouched when he had kissed her, and he could not let it happen again.

But tonight he wondered. How was she? Was she happy, or at least content? Though Éomer had tried to keep his distance, he had noticed something seemed to be troubling her. No matter what his own feelings might be, he still should make sure she was fine, and he knew all too well it was not always possible for her to open up to her servant friends. After all, she could never put aside her disguise, unless she was alone with him.

"Derehild", Éomer spoke at last in low tones, "have you seen Daerien?"

The question did not seem to surprise the serving maid, who had lingered by, as though she had known exactly what he had been thinking. Maybe she did, what with the discerning look in her eyes.

"Aye, my lord. She went down to the bonfires with Saethryd and Aengifu. They wanted to cheer her up", answered the serving maid steadily. Her eyes were firmly fixed on him, and she was looking at him in a way no servant had ever regarded him. Éomer narrowed his eyes, but she spoke before he had a chance to say anything, "She has been unhappy as of late."

"Is that so?" he asked and studied her closely – though deep inside, he was glad that Lothíriel had such good friends here, and that they would pay close attention to her well-being. Though he might wish otherwise, he could not provide her with all the affection and friendship that she deserved, especially when there was the danger of him forgetting his place.

"It is. I was wondering if you had a particular reason to treat her so coldly, my lord", Derehild said, her voice suddenly sharp. "If you are thinking of replacing her, then you should just tell her."

"And what makes you so invested in her and mine business?" Éomer inquired calmly. He was not quite used to the servants questioning his private choices, but regarding the young woman before himself, he knew her interference was rooted in nothing else than Derehild's friendship with Lothíriel. One had to wonder if the princess knew what loyal companions she had made since coming to stay in the Mark.

"She is my friend, my lord. I do not wish to see her suffer", Derehild simply stated.

"Neither do I, but the matter is more complicated than you know. Yet causing her pain is the last thing I wish to do", he told her. The young woman tilted her head and regarded him as though in an attempt to read his thoughts. Then suddenly, a slight smile appeared on her face, and yet it disappeared almost as soon as he had noticed it.

"You should tell her how you feel, my lord. I think it would cheer her up", she said soberly, and now her words took him aback. He had not spoken of this to anyone, not even Éothain. How had this young servant guessed what he had tried to hide?

Apparently, his question was shining clear in his face, for Derehild smiled, "It's rather obvious, Lord Marshal. I've seen the way you look at her sometimes and it's not exactly inconspicuous."

Éomer said nothing for the longest moment. He wondered if he really had been very transparent about his feelings, and if Derehild was not the only one who had noticed. Well, he did often find it difficult to keep his eyes off of the princess... at any rate, there was no sense in trying to deny it, was there?

"You are quite a perceptive young woman, Derehild", he stated at last, his voice holding some admiration. Perhaps the girl's gifts were wasted if she were to remain a serving maid... he might need to look into this at some more convenient time.

She shrugged as though it was of little consequence.

"Some people like to wag their tongues", Derehild said, the look in her eyes wise beyond her years, "others like to watch and listen."

"Aye, that is very true", he had to agree. He let out a small sigh and knew it was of no use to try to pretend anything before this astute girl – his heart and his tendency of staring at the dark-haired maiden had already betrayed him to her. And if Derehild had read him so accurately, then perhaps she had noticed something in her friend, too.

So he stood a bit straighter and regarded the serving maid quizzically, "So you think it would cheer her up if I should talk to her? That she would... welcome it?"

Now the young woman smiled.

"Oh, she would. I think she has been completely smitten with you from the start, my lord", Derehild answered, nodding emphatically. Éomer considered that and decided perhaps the servant maid had a point. There definitely had been _something_ between them from the moment he had laid eyes on her on the plains, wandering alone in the wild. Perhaps even before... he thought of that first glimpse of her on the night of the storm, standing at his door, and a shiver ran down his spine. Even then he had felt the need to guard her from harm. It wasn't like he were stranger to the ways of the world, but from the moment he had realised he loved her, he had thought it obvious it could only be one-sided. Maybe he had just been afraid of what he was feeling for her and tried to deny she could possibly answer these emotions, just as he had at first tried to refuse them in himself. Or she had enchanted him after all, somehow... perhaps she had made him feel something more _pure_ than anything he had ever experienced before and it had blinded him, as though a man who sees sunlight for the first time in his life.

He shook himself and glanced at the glimmer of bonfires down the plains, his mind already ahead of his body. There was no sense in waiting anymore, and he had wasted enough time as it was. For if there was the barest chance that Derehild had it right, and Lothíriel _did_ return his feelings... well, that changed everything.

He only hoped he would not have to resign himself for a bitter disappointment.

* * *

There was strange, almost magical beauty about the winter's night. Air was chilly enough to keep the snows from melting, and with the clear skies and the growing moon, it could almost be called luminous. Surely this was something Lothíriel had never seen before in her southern home; as they walked down the hill and towards the bonfires glowing in the evening's shadows, she felt childlike wonder as she gazed around herself and beyond the town to the snow-clad plains. It was in quite the stark contrast to the warmth and golden light streaming out from the houses of Aldubrg, and especially the Marshal's Hall... Éomer's home was like a blazing beacon in the vast fields of whiteness. Where summer and Sun were in partnership, she thought winter wholly belonged to the Moon.

As they walked and passed by other people, merrily talking and laughing, Lothíriel felt a lump growing in her throat, her mood shifting once more. She would miss this place so much when a time came for her to go home... she would miss its beauty, the great green plains and the wide sky above it and riding free across the rolling hills. And she would miss Rohirrim, their laughter and their songs and their down to earth attitude towards life, even their shameless jokes. But most of all she would miss _him;_ the nights spent in his rooms, their conversations, how his touch might make her heart race, and how safe she felt with him. In so many ways, Éomer _was_ this land, he embodied it in his smallest gestures; loving him was loving the Riddermark. Even though she had no idea of when would come the day she'd have to go home, she already felt the pain of loss. Yet how could she feel she was losing anything, when all there was between them was their pretension, and something like a friendship that had grown on it? These days, she felt there was hardly even that, what with the distance he was keeping to her. Maybe Éomer had known she was becoming more and more attached to him, and so was trying to make it clear this was just temporary and she better not think anything of it.

Thankfully, Aengifu spoke to her then, distracting her from these bittersweet musings. She struggled to smile and even managed somewhat, though the slight lift of Aengifu's eyebrows showed the other girl knew not everything was fine with her.

When the girls arrived at the bonfires, plenty of other young people of Aldburg were already gathered there. Some of them Lothíriel knew from the Marshal's Hall, and between familiar faces greetings were exchanged. There were indeed many of the younger Riders of Éomer's éored, but also plenty of sons and daughters of the townsfolk. Flasks were already being passed between them and she knew the drink was not merely ale.

What did surprise her was Saethryd producing a small bottle from under her cloak, grinning as she pulled it out. Aengifu did not even raise her eyebrows but received it quietly before passing it on to Lothíriel.

"Here you go. This will keep you warm", said the other woman with a smile, and though she usually wasn't really a drinker, Lothíriel accepted the bottle. The night would probably get only colder, and she did not want to risk burning off her eyebrows by staying too close to the bonfires.

Knowing to expect the burning sensation, she took carefully a small sip of the drink. It spread like liquid fire inside her throat and chest, making her cough. But by its effect, she felt like heat rushed into her very fingertips, chasing away the bite of the cold.

"Good, isn't it?" Saethryd asked with a big smile.

"I'm not sure that's the description I would use", Lothíriel managed in a thin voice, "but it seems to do its job."

"Oh, that it does", Aengifu said cheerfully, linking her arm with that of the princess. "Come along, lass! There are some people here dying to meet Lord Éomer's infamous Dunlending mistress."

"Infamous?" Lothíriel asked with some suspicion as she passed the drink back to Saethryd. Elbereth, what did people of Aldburg even think of her?

"Daerien, you can't exactly go seducing the King's sister-son and then punch his former mate without your fame growing. But don't worry about it. You've never been haughty about it and people appreciate that", Aengifu said and Saethryd nodded emphatically in agreement.

Lothíriel breathed in and out. Would a day ever come she got fully used to this place and the people she had met here? At least she doubted it rather seriously. Elbereth, what would her brothers say when they heard of all this!

"Well, I suppose in that case it's not so bad", she decided eventually, straightening her posture and thinking of asking for another sip of Saethryd's liquor. "Lead the way, girls."

Thankfully, the people her friends introduced her to were not so bad as she had first feared. They were interested but not prying, which made it easier for her to keep her story straight and free of contradictions. Thankfully, most of the people they met were more interested in what she could tell them about Elves rather than any supposed Dunlending kin. Apparently, Dúnedain were considered to have special knowledge of the Elder Kindred. In the quiet of her thoughts, Lothíriel was rather thankful for listening so ardently to her late grandfather's stories about the deeds of Elves in the ancient days.

It was maybe because of this she drank a little bit too much of Saethryd's liquor. This deed, which she first took for a mistake and then later for something else entirely, proved to have quite the unexpected consequences.

The whole chain of events started more or less the moment she saw Éomer had arrived at the bonfires as well. At that point, Aengifu had already disappeared with one Rider, and the princess had been left with Saethryd. They were talking with some of her friends from the town and Lothíriel was vaguely aware of being less than sober. Still and all, she spotted the familiar tall figure from the corner of her eye, and she saw he was talking with a pair of the younger men riding in his éored – or, rather, he looked like he was being interrogated by the two lads. Silently she wondered what had brought Éomer here, considering occasions like this did not really seem his type of thing.

"Ooh, your Marshal is here", Saethryd whispered to her, having noticed where Lothíriel's attention had relocated.

"He is", agreed the dark-haired woman, worrying her lip as she tried to regard the man without him noticing she was watching.

"Now would be a good time to do something about that thing we talked of earlier", Saethryd pointed out, her voice excited. Speaking with him was not an option, not when Lothíriel wasn't certain she would be capable of coherent sentences.

As for Saethryd's suggestion... _make him jealous._

Suddenly, she couldn't remember anymore why it was such a bad idea. What could it hurt? If Éomer felt nothing for her, then surely he wouldn't mind. And if he did, then maybe this stalemate would move at least some way, releasing them of the situation that just kept growing more and more difficult to bear.

"Do I have to kiss somebody?" Lothíriel asked her friend, focusing hard in order to speak clearly.

"It depends. Maybe not, if the Marshal is paying attention to you. If he is, then you don't have to go as far as kissing anybody", Saethryd advised her quickly before offering her the bottle once more. How much had they even been drinking? Almost half of the bottle's contents were already gone! The blonde girl nodded emphatically, "For courage, lass. Go ahead."

Lothíriel threw caution into the wind and sipped the drink once more. It did not burn so much anymore, which should probably have been a warning enough. However, now was too late to turn back.

"Any suggestions? About who I should go and grope?" she wanted to know.

"Drunk Daerien is surprisingly fun. We must do this more often!" Saethryd grinned before turning and scanning the merry crowd around them. Her eyes settled on one young man, who was probably only a year or two older than them. He had a lanky sort of look about him and a wispy kind of beard that was probably his first, marking him more as a boy than a grown man. Still, he had that blond hair, which in this light seemed exactly the same shade as Éomer's. Yes, that was a good thing. A _very_ good thing.

"That's Leofing. He's kind of young and that means he's going to fall right for it", Saethryd whispered. "Go get him, lass. There's no reason to wait, especially now that your Marshal is here. You don't want to lose your chance, do you?"

Lothíriel grumbled something vaguely affirmative in response and took a deep breath. She also took one more sip of her friend's liquor before she went ahead.

At that point, she was not just tipsy anymore, and afterwards she could not have given a very good or coherent account on what exactly happened. She just knew one moment she was talking with Leofing, and then they were dancing. He was an enthusiastic dance partner to say the very least – so enthusiastic, actually, that they nearly leaped right into a bonfire. Thankfully, one of Leofing's friends was there to stop them from burning themselves. Then she found herself fondling his hair and thinking about another man whose bright mane she'd rather like to touch some time, until suddenly Leofing was pulling her with himself somewhere. She stumbled after him, having no idea what was happening anymore.

Then she lost her footing and went sprawling to the snow-covered ground. This far from the bonfires, it was not easiest task to see where one was going. With a squeak, she fell and nearly collapsed face-first in snow.

"Daerien! Are you all right!" Leofing demanded to know, fumbling in the dark in an attempt to locate her and lift her up.

"Just perfect", she answered, rolling around on her bottom and then struggling to get up on her feet. Leofing reached for her hand and tried to help her to stand, but Lothíriel's foot slipped again on the uneven ground. He came falling right after her and as a result, they were both down in the snow. There was snow against the back of her neck, making her squeal against the shock of the cold. The impact was as though someone had thrown bucketful of cold water at her face. As a result, it made her sharply aware of how ridiculous this situation was, and how stupid she had been not only to drink so much, but also to follow with Saethryd's suggestion. Elbereth! She should have known better!

"Daerien", Leofing breathed hoarsely, seeking her face in the dark. His fingers reached to slip inside her cloak, tracing her body in a way she did not particularly appreciate. However, it wasn't like she could blame him – she had caused this by her own idiotic behaviour.

"I'm cold", she mumbled, which was not even a lie. Not that she had expected a pile of snow to be a very warm bed, but it was starting to seep through her clothing now and there was plenty of it in her hair, and it was all very unpleasant.

"Mmm. Let me take care of that..." Leofing murmured, his face nearing hers in the dark, and his breath hitting her face; he smelled of strong liquor and garlic, which was about the least arousing thing she could think of right now.

Lothíriel did the only thing she could think of. She grabbed some snow and pushed it inside his collar. His shocked yowl stung her with guilt and she cringed, wishing she could kick herself. She had made a complete fool of herself tonight!

Leofing rolled sideways, hastily wiping away the snow she had punished him with. Meanwhile, the princess was already making most of her chance to get away. She climbed up with better success than before and hastily she started for the bonfires.

While she knew she had just done a very stupid thing and she was really starting to get cold, at least rolling around in the snow had achieved her one thing: it had shocked her back into her senses. She knew the smartest thing she could do now was go back to Marshal's Hall, change into something dry, and then go straight to bed. But how on earth was she going to get back there, when her feet were still wobbly, and she had no idea of where Saethryd and Aengifu had gone?

Lothíriel was rather busy worrying about these things when she suddenly walked into a human wall. Once more she squealed and nearly fell, but a pair of strong hands steadied her.

Then there was a low, angry hiss: "What in the name of Béma do you think you're doing?!"

And there he was, glaring at her furiously and holding her forearms as though he thought otherwise she might just skip off to her next idiotic feat. In some other situation nearly seven feet of barely controlled anger might have seriously disconcerted her, but Lothíriel was tired and she was _cold,_ and she knew perfectly well just how senselessly she had just acted.

"None of your business", she mumbled, avoiding his eyes. But the low growl Éomer made was really enough information on just what he thought of her answer.

"It is my business as the fool who is supposed to keep you safe!" he snapped, his voice dangerously low. "Have you no idea of what could have happened?"

As a matter of fact, she did have some idea – she might have passed out in snow, or get involved with Leofing in ways she had not intended, or she could have blurted out the truth about herself. All very bad, and she was quite aware of that. And she also knew Éomer had every right to be angry, but she just couldn't deal with it right now.

It was then Leofing made another appearance. Or, she didn't exactly see him, but she heard his voice from some way behind herself, "Daerien..."

Lothiriel had time to see how Éomer's eyes flashed. The man looked positively dangerous! His fist clenched and he lifted his hand, and then he tried to step around the princess. Luckily, she realised his intention before he could carry through with it, and so she more or less attached herself on his arm, preventing him from hitting anything.

"Leave him alone! He didn't do anything!" she exclaimed, angling herself so that she was between the two men. Throwing a quick glance at Leofing to see if he were in punching mood as well, she saw the young man had gone pale as the snow around their feet.

As for the Rohir whose arm she was tightly clasping inside her own two, he looked like he was pondering a murderous rampage. Holding him the way she did, she could feel how utterly tense he was, and how his muscles rippled in preparation for outburst of violence.

"Please calm down", Lothíriel spoke hastily, wondering what she should do if this did become a fight. No, that could not happen – she had caused enough trouble for tonight. She would throw herself between them if need be!

Though Éomer's expression did not become any less terrifying, she could feel him relaxing – or forcing himself to relax. The set of his shoulders remained tight, though, but at least it didn't seem anymore like heads would be torn off.

"Get out of my sight, Leofing. I will take care of her", the Marshal said coldly to the young man, though "taking care" did not seem to imply "taking this shivering girl close to a fire and offering her a blanket", but rather "thrashing her until she sees stars". At any rate, the young man did not seem to need more persuasion. He was gone in an instant.

"You didn't have to be so rude to him. Or threaten him when he really wasn't to blame", Lothíriel pointed out, which brought Éomer's attention back to her. His glare was not very friendly.

"And you didn't have to be frolicking with him in the first place!" he told her sharply. "What were you thinking? You _know_ you must be careful!"

Suddenly, she felt like crying. It probably had to do with all the liquor she had drunk tonight, and the events just now did not help much, but it felt like someone's hand was inside her chest, gripping tight her heart until it might just burst. And Éomer was so angry with her, and she had been so stupid to think making him jealous might actually work, when she should have known _this_ was exactly what would happen.

But she said none of that out loud.

"I'm cold", she merely muttered, surprised at how difficult it was to speak. But then, talking was probably supposed to happen without clattering teeth.

Éomer stared at her, looking like the man who is desperately praying the Powers to grant him strength and patience. Then he groaned and gripped tight her wrist, pulling her after himself with very little grace. Lothíriel did not greatly appreciate being dragged so, but she decided she had pushed her luck enough for tonight.

"I'm taking you home right now", he announced in a voice that just obliterated any objections hypothetical or real, and even if going back to the Hall hadn't been her chief object for some ten minutes now, Lothíriel would have followed him without a complaint.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Here's an update at last! Hope you enjoyed it. :)

Originally I did not mean to cut the chapter here, but eventually I had to when the word count began to climb too high. So if this seems to stop at a weird time, it's because it wasn't originally supposed to be so.

Éomer has finally figured out he needs to talk with Lothíriel, but unfortunately her little show did not come at the best time. Then again, while it was not a smart thing to do, she's trying to find out about his feelings too, but at the time she's too afraid and insecure to just ask. We will see how this will impact the events in the next chapter! Still, she is very well aware she behaved stupidly, but that's what alcohol does to you sometimes - especially if you don't drink often.

I occasionally get messages urging or even demanding me to update faster. Believe me, I get being anxious for new chapters for a story you like - I often feel it too. But please understand it takes time and effort to write a story. My living situation is different than before, and I'm not a machine that just spits out fics fully formed. Creating a story is not always easy and sometimes I just need to stop writing altogether to distance myself from it. If I started to update faster than I do now, it would result in shorter chapters and worse quality than what I can offer. I tend to finish my stories, so it's not like I'm going to leave you hanging for a year at a time until I can find time to update again. So while I understand your eagerness to read more, please consider it's a real person writing that story for no gain, they are choosing to share it with you, and they are doing it as fast as their circumstances allow.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **outlawwoman -** I write as often and quickly as I can!

 **Irgendwer -** Thank you! :)

 **Madam X -** Glad you liked it! Can't really say anything about the future - you just have to wait until we get there!

 **A -** Thanks! :)

 **Wondereye -** To be honest, I don't see how that would happen. For one, neither Éothain or Théodred are close to her, and they don't know she has feelings for Éomer. Nor do they think her a valid candidate for a legitimate wife. Éothain thinks she's some commoner his boss happens to fancy, and while Théodred has suspicions about her being something else entirely, he might agree with Éowyn that Lothíriel is too much a risk for Éomer - especially if he was planning to marry her in this situation where her family doesn't even know about how far things have progressed between the two. If a push should come from anywhere, I think it should be her servant friends.

 **Guest -** Thank you! :)

 **Rhiannon A. Christy -** I believe Lothíriel minds it very little as well, though she might not admit at the time! ;) And yes, they have both been rather blind, but at least Éomer has now resolved they need to talk! Or at least he did think so. We'll see what her antics will cause him to do next!

Usually, I've got no problem in figuring out where the story will go. I don't really know why it is so difficult this time. We are all different as writers!

 **AnonymousLKF -** Thank you!I'm glad you liked it. :)

 **sailor68 -** I'm afraid the scene here was less than romantic. Hopefully that doesn't disappoint you over much! We'll see where things go from here. At any rate, they are both aware they love each other, but their problem is just how to talk about it and confess their feelings.

 **Anon -** Thanks! :)

 **coecoe11 -** You're welcome! :D


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

It was a lucky thing Éomer had taken his horse along, because when they were riding back to the Hall, Lothíriel did not feel like she could have walked all that way in her current condition. Her shivering was starting to get worse, which the Rohir noticed as well – without a word he pulled the hem of his own cloak around her to share the warmth. He also urged Firefoot to move faster so that they might reach the shelter of the Hall sooner. Silently Lothíriel pushed her gloved fingers closer to his armpit to warm them up, which he allowed her to do. During her time here, she had noticed Éomer never got cold. How she envied him now!

Thankfully, he did not speak on the way up to the Hall, though his expression was stony, and he remained silent even as they reached the courtyard of his home He just lifted her down and pulled her after himself after he had left Firefoot with a stablehand, and he lead her all the way to the great fireplace of the feasting hall. Too cold and tired to protest at being manhandled, she just followed him.

"There", Éomer growled as he pushed her close to the embers and furiously began to add some peat to it. She said nothing as she reached her ice-cold fingers towards the fire. As of now, the only thing she wanted was to get warm again – and it was entirely possible she wouldn't have been able to talk from her shivering.

In the glow of the fireplace, cold began to subside soon enough and she got her hands working properly again. Lothíriel hanged her cloak nearby to help it dry, and she reached to wring melted snow from her hair. By now she felt like she had sobered up more or less, for which she was glad. That should save her from additional stupid ideas for tonight.

While she was combing fingers through her still damp hair, she became abruptly aware of a pair of fierce dark eyes glaring at her. Lothíriel had half expected him to storm off as soon as he had got her here, but maybe Éomer thought she still had some stupid ideas left for tonight, meaning his watch was not yet over. She pursed her lips and deliberately looked away from the man. The worst thing was, she didn't even know how to tell him that ultimately, she was thankful for his interference. Truth was she had little to no idea as to how she would have got back to the Hall by herself.

 _Yes, you really did a wonderful job tonight, didn't you?_ she thought darkly to herself. She would have liked to be angry at Saethryd for ever suggesting the thing, but then again it wasn't like the other girl had pushed her to do it; she was responsible for her own actions. As for the results of her little feat... well, she didn't think Éomer appearing when he had meant at all he was jealous. Rather, it was like he had said: it was his business as the man who was trying to keep her safe and hidden. Of course he wouldn't react well to her behaving so recklessly, especially after all he had done for her.

"Are you ready to tell me what you were doing with Leofing?" Éomer asked suddenly, his voice belligerent. Without her notice, he had approached her once more, and she startled when she was so suddenly interrupted.

"It's still none of your business", Lothíriel answered moodily. Really, how could she possibly tell him the truth? He would think her the very definition of an air-headed and manipulative courtier, or worse! It could ruin everything between them.

Her answer was apparently less than satisfying. His face became dark and his glare even fiercer, and in any other situation it might have sent her running for cover. But she stood her ground and lifted her chin proudly. Would it have been wiser to act demurely and admit she had been drunk and thus acted stupidly? Then again, she didn't exactly appreciate the way he had dragged her around and nearly thrown a punch at Leofing without even knowing what had really happened.

"Lothíriel, I believe I already made it clear as to why it _is",_ Éomer informed her, sounding so calm it could only be sign of intense focusing on not shouting.

"So you get to go and drink yourself silly and nearly spill out everything while you're at it! But when I for once try to have some fun and not once do I get close to revealing anything, it's suddenly the worst thing ever!" she snapped, though at the back of her mind a voice was dryly pointing out her argument was less than solid, and the fact she was not being fair tossing this against his face when he had apologised and she had told him it was all right. But she was beyond thinking rationally about this, and being angry was now the only thing keeping her from bursting in tears.

His eyes blazed, if possible, even more furiously.

"I am not the one fleeing for their life! My freedom and safety does not depend on being careful and discreet!" he growled at her, stepping closer and towering over her like a mountain. There was something wild and forcible about his body's air and his will was iron. But she had been born by the Sea and even iron would eventually rust in the lap of waters.

"One could this was all about you, considering the way you are yelling at me!" she snapped back, mostly just to say anything at all, though as soon as the words were out she realised this _was_ in good part about him. Even so, he could get as angry as he wanted but she was _not_ going to be intimidated by him!

"I'm yelling at you because you are a wilful little idiot who can't even give me one good reason why you were fooling around with Leofing!" Éomer shot back, and now he was indeed shouting. One could only wonder what those who were still up and about were making of this confrontation.

She bristled, not because he somehow didn't have the right to know the truth, but more because why did he have to be so... so _stubborn!_ Why couldn't he just see what was so obvious!

"I went with him because I wanted", she finally answered, returning the damned man's scowl with equal fire. Her answer seemed to come as a surprise, because he blinked and looked confused for a second before his expression hardened once more.

"Is that so? Please, by all means, do explain!" he snapped at her, obviously growing more impatient. But she was impatient too, and she had to get away from him, because all this was making her grip on self-control less and less firm. If he continued with this, she would be telling him everything, maybe confessing her feelings in a tearful and entirely pathetic manner, and then the only thing he could do was send her away... she was not his wife, not even his mistress – she had no claim to stay here, and only thing that had him keeping her under his wing was his honour.

Be it as may, her mouth still ran away with her.

"I wanted to go with him because I thought maybe he wouldn't be a damned fool who is just so proper and bloody honourable that he can't even see what's staring him right in the eyes!" she angrily told him, but did not stay to see how he would react to that statement. Instead she whirled around and strode off, though she wasn't really sure where she was even going. In the middle of it she decided to head for the chamber she shared with her friends.

If she thought that was going to end this catastrophe of a confrontation, she was sorely mistaken.

"Wait!" he called after her, and she knew he was following now; she walked faster towards the narrow hallway that lead to the servants' quarters.

And then there was a hand on her wrist, trying to stop her. Lothíriel more or less jumped at the contact, even managing to add a little whirl to the motion so that she could face him. It was wonder she did not go sprawling once more.

"Don't touch me!" she hissed at him. "You have manhandled me quite enough for one night!"

The intense look of mixed fury and frustration on Éomer's face was replaced by very genuine shock. He blinked and stepped back in alarm, and his hand flinched back as though her skin had burned him. Lothíriel wondered if she had been too harsh in her reaction. However, she needed to make it clear she didn't appreciate being dragged, even if he had done the right thing by taking her back.

"I apologise. I did not realise I was being too coarse with you", he said quietly. Now belligerence was entirely gone from his voice. "Why didn't you say anything?"

For one reason or the other she could not respond, not even as he stood waiting for her to answer. Seeing she was not going to say anything, he cleared his throat and spoke again.

"I am sorry to have offended you. It was not my intention", Éomer said and his brow furrowed with troubled thoughts. "Lothíriel, I was just concerned about you. One moment you were there, and then I couldn't see you anymore... I was scared Leofing was going to harm you somehow, or take advantage of you while you could not look after yourself."

Her mood softened at last. Maybe his hot temper had impacted his reaction to her nonsense, but it was only because he had been worried for her. And it was more than decent of him to apologise to her, especially when she was the one who had caused the whole scene in the first place.

"It's all right. I... I'm the one who did wrong, I know I did. I shouldn't have drank so much or gone with him", she responded quietly, looking away in shame. She bit her lip and forced herself to meet his eyes once more, "I'm sorry to have caused you concern. And I'm sorry for behaving so stupidly tonight."

"You are unharmed. Only that matters to me", Éomer spoke, his deep voice impossibly soft and warm. It chased away the last bits of coldness from her, as though he had spread a blanket on her shoulders. She smiled slightly, and he stepped closer to her, reaching his hand upwards... now it was not a fist, but an open palm, and somehow the very lines of it glowed with gentleness.

He reached for her, but then in the middle of the motion he hesitated. Then, so quietly it was nothing more than a whisper, he asked: "May I...?"

Lothíriel did not think she could speak. So she just nodded silently, and then his fingers came to contact with her cheek. She held her breath and stood still, afraid of disrupting this moment. His hand was so warm, so tender – a strange contrast to the hardness of it which had come from wielding a sword for years and years. Oh, she loved him! And the day she would have to leave this place, leave _him,_ she might just die. Meanwhile, he would move on with his life, forget about her, and be glad to finally be rid of all the nuisance she caused him just by being here... but she would be mourning a life that had never been hers to begin with. She was sure that any man who came after would be but a pale ember in comparison, because what earthly fire could compete with the very Sun?

"Lothíriel, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but... what happened tonight? It's not like you to behave the way you did", he said gently. There was nothing demanding about his voice now, and she wanted to tell him everything. But how to explain this? How to say out loud what she felt, especially when she once more felt her heart growing too big for her chest?

"I... I wish I could. But I don't know if you would understand, and... you would think me so stupid. I just... I don't want to be alone. You wouldn't want to see me again if I told you, and I don't... I can't..." she mumbled pitifully and tried to fight against tears, but it was not with great success. The quick shifts of intense emotions had left her exhausted, and all that she had tried to keep hidden was just so heavy to bear. More than ever, she wished for a simple hug.

"What is it? Why are you crying?" Éomer asked with a slight note of worry, the palm of his hand falling to her shoulder, much to her regret. She wanted to feel it again against her chin, so warm and comforting – the very thing that had kept her alive and sane when her life had been in peril and loneliness had threatened to consume her.

Swallowing hard, she whispered, "I'm thinking of how sad I would be to leave this place. And I already know that one day I must..."

 _One day I must leave you..._ the words were there on her tongue, but she held them back. Éomer moved his hand so that he could tip her face upwards gently and meet her eyes. When his gaze captured her, she felt like an enchantment wrapped her, and all she could was stare back at him. Had she ever seen him looking at her like that? He was so... so... she didn't even have a word for it. She just knew she felt torn between sobbing like a child and jumping to kiss him. How could a single person be so much and mean so much that her heart did not seem big enough to hold all that he made her feel? Éomer was looking at her with concern with those dark eyes of his, so much warmer and richer than the cold grey of the eyes of her own kin. Elbereth, she wanted him madly.

He said nothing at first. He looked at her quietly and there was a strange glint in his eyes, making her wonder what he was thinking of. Did he guess the things she dared not say out loud? Surely he had to, because she felt like it was just written all over her face, every tiniest bit of yearning...

"Who says you have to leave?" he asked her at last, his voice low and rough and it held a note she had never heard before. Éomer moved even closer to her, and now there were the barest inches between them. Oh, if something would not happen soon, she would go mad!

"I..." she mumbled, trying to gather at coherent thoughts but failing.

"Who says you can't stay?" he spoke again, leaning to her. She could _feel_ him emanating some strange and thrilling kind of force that had her skin tingling in the most peculiar, most delightful way.

Slowly, carefully, he reached his hand to her once more. She let out a trembling breath when his calloused palm cupped her cheek, holding her like a flower. His eyes, dark as a gentle night, had no end to them as she stared up at him as though one mesmerised. Oh, how would it torment her once this moment was over and he was gone, yet right now all she could feel was wonder.

"Stay with me", Éomer whispered now, his breath dancing across her face as he bent his head towards her. And dear Powers that be, she wanted to do that, she wanted to stay more than anything – had he asked for anything that moment, she would have given it gladly, she would renounce her name and station, she would give up everything just to be with him. He was so near now, his hand lingering on her cheek, and she was leaning closer to him...

And then, at long last, his lips descended on hers.

Oh, Elbereth, his mouth! _This was it._ This was not some moment of drunken stupor, or a bruising kiss stolen in the shadow of war. This was them, eager and willing for each other, surrendering at last to the pull that had been between them perhaps as long as from the start. Melding against her own as though these lips had been made to kiss her and her alone, the rough, prickly texture of his beard rubbing against the sensitive skin of her chin and cheeks, the taste of ale that rolled over her tongue... she had once wondered if there were anything soft about him, but now she had her answer, and _this_ was something she never wanted to lose. It seemed to her that she had been waiting for this moment all her life, and with it everything changed in a matter of seconds. There was no going back now, no hiding what she felt for him. It branded her like steel, marked her as belonging _here,_ under this sky, in these arms. With one kiss, her fate – perhaps his, too – was altered irrevocably. This moment he was not just the Sun but also the Moon, and all the stars of heaven's vault, and as long as she was with him, she would not go in the dark again.

When at last he pulled back, Lothíriel felt like for a moment she had forgotten entirely how to breathe, and now she was gasping for it, fast and erratic. Yet everything was more vivid and heightened than she had ever experienced, as though she had been just sleeping until this moment. Trembling as she did, she wrapped her arms around his neck and his held her tight against his chest.

"Lothíriel... do you feel for me as I feel for you?" he asked her then, his voice husky and rich and _so full,_ and she thought she might just die of the love she felt for him right now.

"And what is it you feel for me?" she asked, trembling with anticipation and seeking his eyes. Such flames were in them, she thought she had never seen anything alike. For who of the people she knew was as vividly, as brilliantly alive as this man?

"I feel that all my burdens become light when you are near, and even darkness grows bright in your smile... each day, I look forward to the moment I see you, and I rue the minute that takes you from me. I feel I can't sleep when you lie next to me, for you are so close and yet you are not mine to touch and hold. And when you're gone, I toss and turn, for sleep is not rest without you by my side", he answered, slowly and evenly, and with each of his words, her mind grew lighter and giddier, because all of her fear and doubt had been in vain; her love was answered in every last syllable to the fullest.

"Yes", she breathed, her heart bursting with sheer happiness, "That is what I feel for you."

"Then stay with me", he whispered, his breath brushing against her face once more, and he looked like he meant to kiss her again. But suddenly something occurred to her – something very important she had to know before they moved from here to any direction at all.

She had to know where she stood with him and what exactly he meant when he asked her to stay.

"Stay with you? As your mistress?" she asked him, her voice turning sharp as she took a step back.

"No!" he said quickly, following suit to cross the space between them again. The idea seemed to horrify him, but when he continued, his voice was softer once more, "Of course not. I would not ask that of you – not even if it were the only way I could have you."

"Then what is it you want of me?" she asked him, growing confused.

In the light of torches, she could see a strange expression appearing on his face, Éomer did not answer right away; he looked down and gathered her hands in his. He considered them for a moment before speaking, warming her fingers between his own. She stood quietly, hoping she might ask him never to let go.

"Lothíriel", he spoke at last, very softly, and he lifted his eyes to look at hers. "Lothíriel, I do not ask you to stay as a mistress or as a servant. I ask you to remain here as my equal... as my wife."

Then, looking taken aback as she stood speechless, he added, "That is, if you would be willing to accept such a crude proposal."

Her agreement came in a heartbeat, and she _knew_ it was the only thing she could answer. She jumped him, and the sudden collision had him taking a step back. This time, it was her who initiated the kiss, and he welcomed it wholeheartedly, answering her affections with equal ardour. By the time she pulled back it was out of necessity, and both were gasping to catch their breath. Oh, all the benevolent Powers, was this truly happening? If it were but a dream, then let them strike her dead right now!

"Yes, I am very willing", Lothíriel managed, her voice hoarse and weak, "And it's not a crude proposal at all."

Éomer let out a muffled little chuckle, his breath mingling with hers.

"I'm glad to hear that, Lady Star-eyes", he murmured softly. Her heart leaped; the pet name had an intimate feel to it, somehow bringing him even closer to her. He was not a man who usually went about littering his speech with sweet talk, but instead said straightforwardly what was on his mind. This name, however, implied something else – something deeper and out of ordinary. It confirmed he had pondered her just as much as she had him, that he truly wanted her.

"Star-eyes?" she asked him, giddy with happiness and sheer _hope._ She had no idea of what was going to happen now, how would they get married and where, and what Father would say about this all. But right now, she found she did not care. Or, her faith in future was stronger than any doubt; she knew Éomer never said anything he did not mean, and with someone so strong-willed by her side she knew she could not fail.

"Is that too strange? It's just you have the brightest eyes I've ever seen in my life", he said, looking just as light-headed as she felt.

"Everything about _this_ is strange", she told him, holding on tight to his neck, "but I like it. I like it very much."

Ever so gently, he cradled her face between hands, staring at her like she was a wondrous thing. He seemed like a man who has fallen asleep in grim darkness, and is awakened to light and fair visions.

"I knew. I always knew it couldn't be for nothing..." he murmured hoarsely, smoothing his fingers across her cheeks and in her hair, as though checking she was real, and his voice betrayed such storm of emotion as she had never seen anyone showing before her – and least of all _because_ of her.

"Knew what?" Lothíriel asked, thinking of how much she would have liked to kiss him again. As a matter of fact, she didn't think she ever wanted to _stop_ kissing him – and at any rate, if this _was_ a dream, then she should take advantage of it as long as she could. She noted only very briefly that she did not sound any more collected than he did.

"That I didn't dream of you because of nothing", Éomer said, speaking slowly and searching her eyes. Could he mean...?

"You dreamed of me?" she asked, the grip of her hands on his shoulders turning tighter.

"It happened many nights before we found you on the plains. There was a great storm and I woke up... you were here, in my own chamber. I saw you as I now see you with my waking eyes. You stood there and asked for my help", he told her, breathless and urgent.

Her heart missed a beat. He had seen her! Just as she had seen him in Dol Amroth!

"I saw you too. There was a storm as well, and I slept poorly. Then you were there at my door, and... I thought I had gone mad", she stammered, so happy that she thought she was either going to laugh or cry. She didn't understand this at all, how it was possible that they should have dreamt of each other long before they even met, or what it could possibly signify. And yet no matter how mad it was in her mind, in her heart it made all the sense in the world. All these months they had tiptoed around each other, unaware of how their fates were already tied!

"If you are mad, then I am too, and still it would be sweetest madness in the world", he groaned and claimed her lips in another kiss, and she clung to him as though letting go would mean dying. Perhaps it did.

"But what does it mean? Why did you come to me that night? And why did you see me here?" she asked him when he had pulled back again, her mind feverish and her body more alive than she ever remembered it being.

"I don't know, Lothíriel... I truly do not know. But I'm glad it happened", he said to her, only half coherent in his words.

"I'm glad too", she mumbled against his lips. Even all the pain she had felt, leaving her family and home, losing her knights and wandering alone in the wild at the end of her endurance, seemed a pale thing compared to _this._ She might not know what it all meant, or how did all these pieces fit in together, but these events _had_ brought her here and to him.

And for that she was happy, more so than she was ever sad for the things she had lost.

* * *

After their heartfelt confessions there was still much they needed to talk about. Now that she was warm again and her drunkenness had subsided, Lothíriel did not feel so tired anymore, and she was reluctant to leave his company anyway. And as she felt she would do good to drink something other than mead or strong liquor, they headed for the kitchens with the plan of making some tea.

Thankfully, no one remained in the kitchens at this late hour, leaving the two of them alone. Once she had served herself with a cool drink of goat milk and the water was on the stove, she sat next to Éomer, and he immediately took her hand in his own. There was some kissing, which she very much liked, until he seemed to get a hold of himself and pulled back somewhat. His eyes never left her face, though.

"Do you want to begin?" he asked her, but the question brought a blush on her cheeks – as though there was anything more to be embarrassed about before him. He saw that and smiled wryly, and spoke again, "Well, perhaps I will."

He began to speak then, telling her about months that now lay behind them – how he had found himself watching her steps more often than not since that day by the stream. For a time he had tried to ignore it, and especially reject it could be anything more than some physical craving. But then had come the day he had returned from Edoras, only to find her ill... his brow furrowed as he spoke of it and how afraid for her life he had been, but his expression softened when he confessed it was then he had finally realised he loved her.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Lothíriel asked then, wondering at the months that had passed since. Of course, her own reveal had been slow in coming, but she was certain it would have become clear to her much earlier if he had told her how he felt.

"Because not for a moment did I presume to think you would respond in kind", he answered solemnly, meeting her eyes straight. She had often wondered how could anyone be both so bold and so reserved at the same time; how he shared so little of his thoughts with people, and yet his expressions were so _vivid_ and full _._ And when he did speak of the things that moved in his mind and heart, he did so like a man who feels everything truly and without shame.

Éomer let out a small sigh then and covered her hands with both of his own, and he went on, "I wanted you to feel safe here, Star-eyes, not grow afraid of me or think you were somehow obliged to..."

"Obliged to what?" she asked him when he had fallen silent and did not seem to know how to continue.

"To pretend something you did not feel", he stated at last, speaking very softly now.

"Well, I'm not pretending. Just so you know", she told him firmly, making him smile.

"Aye. I had rather got that impression", the Rohir agreed, reaching to kiss her once more.

She only pulled back when water sizzling on the oven alarmed her, and she hurried to save the boiling pan. Her hands were not at their steadiest as she prepared the tea, but that was no wonder, not after being kissed so thoroughly by her Marshal.

When the tea was brewing she returned to his side and felt like now was her turn to open up. So she did, though not quite as boldly as him – she kept her eyes on their hands as she spoke, though he could feel him watching her closely. She talked about how she had felt the tension growing between them for months now, and how sad it had made her to think she was losing him. She told him she had eventually figured out her own feelings, just as he had before, even if it had not happened to her in the same way as to him. After apologising for her unfair words of before, Lothíriel also told him about the night he had got drunk with his Riders and how she had resolved to shut him up by kissing him. With a sheepish little smile on his face, he shook his head.

"I had thought something of the sort took place. I must admit I was rather disappointed to remember none of it", he said and idly ran his fingers over the back of her hand, which sent a pleasant shiver all over her arm. He frowned slightly, "But I am sorry about putting you in that position. I should know better than to compromise your secret."

"It's all right. No harm was done. And it's not like I dislike kissing you", she said, blushing as she said those words – he on the other hand looked rather pleased.

Biting her lip, she continued, "That's not all, though. When we got to your rooms, you kept trying to fondle me. Rather intimately, I might add."

Seeing his expression, she hurried to add, "It's not that I mind. I think it was then I started to realise you are not just a friend to me. But I was sad too, because I thought you did it because you thought I was someone else."

"I can't confirm what I thought then, as I scarcely recall the affair. But what I do know is that you had me already under your spell at that time. Most likely the liquor had taken away my sense and caution, Star-eyes, and I was merely acting on what my heart desired", the Rohir told her solemnly, and his words washed like a wave of warmth over her. The princess smiled, feeling the doubts she had harboured for so long give in at last.

And with that sensation, she knew that she could not keep any more secrets to herself: she had to explain to him why she had behaved so foolishly tonight. Encouraged by how patiently and gently he had received all her words so far, Lothíriel finally confessed what had been driving her – though not before they had mugs of tea in their hands and she could regard it for reassurance. From the corner of her eye, she saw him staring at her.

"That was really very silly", Éomer said at last when she had fallen silent and was trying not to cringe.

"I know. I should have simply asked you, not use any dishonest ploys to find out the truth. I was just... I was so afraid of rejection. And I thought you might decide I was a liability, and send me away", she mumbled, too embarrassed to meet his gaze.

"Lothíriel", he spoke gently, reaching with his fingers to turn her face toward himself. She allowed him to do that, even if she felt very young and very foolish. But he was smiling – not in an amused way, but with warm acceptance in his eyes – and he continued, "Lothíriel, I promised to keep you safe and that I will do. Not once has there been a moment I have wished I could go back on the word I gave you."

She could not answer to that – she just sat there, looking at him quietly. He moved both his hands to cup her face, and he whispered, "Don't be afraid. You don't have to be alone. Not anymore."

Before she even knew it, his words brought tears in her eyes. She moved her face from the gentle hold of his hands and turned away, wiping her eyes and trying not to cry.

"Sorry. I wasn't always such a crybaby", she said with a weak smile. Fiercely she wished she could have been stronger and tougher than this, be like him. What a strange fate it was that even with all this weakness in her, he still seemed to love her!

"It is all right. You have endured much", Éomer said, smoothing his fingers across her cheek. Then, as though he sensed her vulnerabilities, he went on, "And you are much stronger than you realise. I do not think many people would have been able to keep on going as long as you have."

Hearing that he thought so, Lothíriel smiled again, though it was broader now and not as tearful. She reached for his hand again and held it tight, finding faith and reassurance in the warm pressure of his palm against hers. There was joy also in the knowledge no more secrets remained between them. But that didn't mean they still didn't have a lot to talk about.

"What happens now?" she asked him. Indeed, the future spread before them like a foreign country, with paths neither of them knew. Yet it was not a hostile land, she thought – rather, she would face it hopefully. At least this small thing about the days to come was light and glad.

"What happens now is a conversation for another time. I think we should both go to bed", Éomer stated at length, though he did not let go of her hand, "it is late and tomorrow will be a long day. We will speak as soon as possible."

She was reluctant to follow with this idea, but rationally Lothíriel knew he was right. Tonight was not the time to figure out where they would go from here – perhaps that road would only reveal itself in days to come. In any case, she knew she could trust him.

For in her heart, she knew they had not dreamed each other for nothing.

* * *

The night had taken some rather fast and strange turns, and at its end Éomer was left bewildered but also more happy than he could have ever said. The conversation with Derehild, then going to the plains and being prevented from seeking Lothíriel by some young riders who wanted to talk to him, and eventually noticing how well she was getting along with Leofing... for a while, he had already thought Derehild had it wrong and so he had been intensely disappointed, even jealous. But the latter sensation he had suppressed best he could. The princess was free to spend her time with whomever she wanted.

But then as he had tried to leave, yet another rider had engaged him in a rather disjointed and one-sided talk about the latest patrol and Éomer had been trying to make sense of it up until he had realised he could not see Lothíriel anymore. Concern had instantly taken him and he had been angry with himself for letting her out of his sight. What if something happened to her? What if Leofing harmed her somehow? So he had rushed forward and searched the crowd, his heart beating fast with fear for her... Béma, if she got hurt tonight, he'd never forgive himself!

Luckily, she had run to him just then, looking disturbed and concerned. His temper had got better of him and he had been angry with her, though his anger only came from fear, and none of this had been improved by Leofing's appearance. But Lothíriel had better sense than him just then and was able to hold him back, giving the young rider a chance to get away.

Silently he fumed all the way back to the Hall, and halfway there did he realise Lothíriel must be freezing – she had pushed her hands into his armpits, which he had allowed, though the deed also roused his anger anew. Not because she was touching him so, or that she felt comfortable enough with him to be so intimate, but because of her behaviour back at the bonfires. What was a man supposed to think of her antics? Did she not know what torment it was to feel her touch and keep himself from responding to it? Most importantly, how could she make him worry so, or behave so irresponsibly when she _knew_ what was at stake?

And they had arrived then, he had got her to the fire, but still his anger would not subside as he watched her. He had fully intended to get an explanation from her and also make sure something like this would not reoccur, but Lothíriel was obstinate and irritable, and for a moment it looked like the night would end with this bitter argument. But he had not wanted it to be so, and so he had chased after her, reaching for her hand when she tried to flee... she had told him not to touch her, which had shocked Éomer rather deeply. Only then had he realised he too had acted wrongly, even if his intentions had just been to get her home.

With such a setting, he had not foreseen the exchange that had followed. Her timid words on how she would be so sad to leave the Mark, the yearning in her eyes, the warmth which had grown the closer he went... and then at last the kiss which should have been their first!

It was difficult to remember when Éomer had last felt so giddily happy as he did when Lothíriel confirmed the things Derehild had told him earlier that night. Looking at the dark-haired maiden before him, seeing his love answered in her grey eyes, and holding her in his arms, he could scarcely believe it was not just some sweet dream. But no matter how many times he bit the inside of his cheek to make sure he was not asleep, this did not vanish; she remained with him, her delicate but strong hands smoothing his cheeks or snaking to rest behind his neck, and her eyes shining brighter than he had ever seen. Béma, had he ever felt anything so... so beautiful?

The whole thing was bewildering and wonderful, and what could a fair, sophisticated princess like her possibly see in such a gruff, coarse man who had only known war since he had come of age? Yet there she was, and the way she had answered his kiss did not imply his feelings were not returned on her part. As she revealed she too had dreamed of him, he felt the surety their roads had been leading _here_ all along, and somehow her life had been tied to his even before they had met in the waking world. And when they at last laid bare their thoughts, he was convinced beyond any doubt that _this_ was real.

In her light, all burdens became easy to bear and living was a gift. And he loved her more than he had ever thought possible.

Had it all depended on him, he would not have let her out of his sight that night, but he knew it was late and she was tired. And he had enough reason left to know she should not be spending the night with him. So, after they had finished their mugs of tea and he had exercised a very serious effort of will, he escorted his princess to the door of the chamber she shared with her servant friends, but he could not let her go before he had kissed her. Oh, the bliss! The soft eagerness of her mouth against his, the untasted fire of youth blazing in each small brush of her lips... at the end of it, he was fighting against the intense urge of just sweeping Lothíriel off her feet and bringing her somewhere no one would disturb them.

"Stay with me tonight?" he asked against his better judgement, his voice husky and warm from the kiss. Great Rider in the sky, he had never wanted a woman like he wanted her!

"Elbereth knows I'd like nothing more, but it might be for the better if we don't spend the night together. I... I don't know what I'd let you do if..." Lothíriel answered, her face deliciously flushed as she struggled to retain coherence. And her words, the things she implied, did not make it any easier to keep himself in line. But she was right: they could not give in to their passions tonight. She was a princess and with her, he would have to tread very, very differently than with any woman he had ever pursued.

"Then I bid you good night, my Lady Star-eyes", Éomer said softly, hiding the effort it took to speak those words and restrain himself.

The smile she gave him was surely worth all the neediness he was sure to feel when the door between them was closed.

"Good night, my horselord."

* * *

Afterwards it all seemed like a dream: the kisses exchanged in the shadows of the corridor, the promises made, the wild hopes they both now carried with them. Lothíriel felt like a stone had fallen from her chest at last, and she could once more walk straight and unburdened. She was not alone anymore, she had Éomer, and she had the oaths they had made for each other. These heartened her, even though she had no idea of what coming days would bring.

Her heart would not have had her part from him that night, but her reason said otherwise: though kisses were sweet and his embrace was warm, it was also getting very late. If she stayed with him tonight, Elbereth knew what might happen.

So they had said good night to each other, and with a final kiss he had released her; she had wandered into her and the girls' chamber like one walking in their sleep. The room was dark and others were who knew where, but Lothíriel was too absorbed by the events of tonight to pay much attention. Humming a soft little song she had changed into a night shift and curled up under her covers, her mind lighter than it had been in months. Sleep took her in moments and her dreams of that night were fair and sweet.

She had scarcely descended from the heights of her joy when she joined her friends at breakfast. Saethryd looked like she had hangover, but Aengifu was smiling like she had a wonderful secret; Derehild had just one glance at the three of them and harrumphed as though she knew exactly how they had spend their nights.

"What are you two so happy about this morning?" Saethryd asked Aengifu and Lothíriel gruffly, nursing her willow bark tea rather morosely.

"I just had lovely time last night", Aengifu answered brightly, and Lothíriel nodded; she didn't say anything but she could not help but grin.

"So I take it you two settled whatever has been bothering you?" Derehild inquired, bringing others' attention to Lothíriel as well.

"Everything is fine. More than fine", she replied and smiled even wider.

As though her thoughts had somehow summoned him, there was suddenly a presence right behind herself, and then a warm large hand on her shoulder.

"Good morning, Star-eyes", he greeted her. Saethryd nearly choked on her tea, but Aengifu helpfully hit her back, and Derehild smiled appreciatively. Lothíriel decided not to pay attention to them – instead she turned and looked up to the man next to her. Oh, Elbereth! The way he was smiling! She wanted to jump him right there and then, and never mind they were in the middle of the Hall.

"Good morning to you as well, my lord", she answered lightly as she reached to squeeze his hand.

Éomer bowed down enough to kiss the top of her head, but she lifted herself and so his mouth landed on hers instead. He didn't seem to mind, though. He made a soft, happy little sound against her lips, which had her heart fluttering in a most pleasant fashion.

Perhaps thinking not to make it entirely awkward to her friends, he pulled back before too long, and he smoothed a hand across the side of her face.

"I will see you later", he said, to which she smiled and nodded, and then her Marshal was already on his way. She watched him go and let out a small sigh, hoping he would be able to spare a moment for her tonight, even if it was Yule and he would be busy with his duties as the lord of the hall.

When she turned back again, three pairs of eyes were watching her closely. Her friends said nothing at first, though, not until Saethryd broke the silence.

"Star-eyes?" she asked, lifting her eyebrows.

Lothíriel smiled and shrugged.

"He likes my eyes", she merely said, making the other woman scoff and shake her head.

"One would think so. I have never seen him smile like that", Derehild said, and the corners of her mouth curled up in a satisfied smile. Aengifu made a soft noise in agreement.

"Now you two are just mocking the rest of us", Saethryd grumbled, making a face at her friend. But Aengifu was wearing a big smile as she rested her chin on her cupped hands, and something similar was on Derehild's face too.

"Hush, Saethryd. You're just envious because Folcred thinks romance is something you eat", she said teasingly. Again the woman with freckled face scoffed.

"That would be funny if it weren't true", she muttered to herself as she tossed back the rest of her tea.

As she fought to hide her giggles, the princess could not help but think how much she loved her Rohirric friends.

* * *

If Lothíriel had learned something during her time in Rohan, it was that Rohirrim knew how to have a good time. Such she had as well during the Yule feast, and afterwards she could not remember when she had last laughed as much or as heartily. Under Athilda's unfaltering steering, the kitchens had excelled in providing the entire household with a delicious meal that, if not as plentiful as in some more prosperous years, was at least a delight to the heart and the stomach. Ale and mead flowed in abundance and all about there was a merry mood, almost making one feel like sadness had never even existed in this world. Joking and laughing with her friends, Lothíriel felt like not even in Dol Amroth she had ever been so _free._ Though she always had to remember who she was pretending to be, this company also allowed a chance of straightforward talk that would never be welcomed in her father's court, and no silly joke was unwelcome in the ears of her carefree companions. It was good to see Derehild smiling as well – she had arrived to the feast with Wulfgar, and both seemed to be in a light mood.

Her night became even better when Éomer appeared at her side. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and she moved close to him, relishing this moment: it was hard to believe this was _hers_ now. She could touch him, kiss him, be so near. And he welcomed it wholeheartedly! Even now, part of her kept wondering whether this was but a sweet dream which would soon end. But whether it was a dream or not, there was still much they would have to talk about, and much they had to figure out; Yule celebrations had not left them with much time for private conversations. However, she knew there would be plenty of time for those after the season's feasts.

But she could not think of these things for long, because he planted a kiss against her temple, and then turned her face to look at him. Her heart made a little miss-step when she saw the smile on his face, and she could not stop herself from tiptoeing into a kiss. Éomer had rarely smiled when she had first come here, but tonight it was the most common expression on his features. She would have to find out if she could make it a more permanent occurrence.

As the band of musicians composed of a few members of the townsfolk began a new song, her Marshal pulled her into a dance with himself and she eagerly followed; though she did not know the steps of that fast reel his folk seemed to be fond of, it did not matter. The music was quick-paced and cheerful, infecting her already high spirits as they leaped around with the other dancing pairs. Lothíriel held tight to Éomer's shoulders to keep up with him and stay upright, while his hands held her waist steady and strong. She was laughing in a way she did not remember laughing in a long time, and how could one feel such happiness without just dying from the sheer force of it?

After three such dances she was out of breath and rather thirsty, and Éomer found them a seat in one of the tables. Then, after a quick kiss, he said he would go and get them something to drink. She smiled as an answer, too giddy with joy to be able to form coherent sentences.

The seat next to her was claimed in less than minutes as Saethryd bounced to her side. The other woman was grinning broadly.

"I swear, you two are so sweet together, it's disgusting", said the blond serving maid and patted Lothíriel's shoulder enthusiastically.

The princess smiled as an answer.

"Sorry. Can't help it", she said lightly, having regained her ability to speak.

"Well, I'm glad that it turned out so well. I must admit, I had doubts whether our little scheme would actually work", Saethryd said, shaking her head slightly.

"It did – in a way, at least. It got us to fight at first, but eventually we calmed down enough to talk, and then we figured out everything. You were right from the start, Saethryd. I should just have told him how I feel", Lothíriel explained, smiling wryly at her own foolishness of last night. She was lucky it all had turned out so well in the end, instead of driving Éomer away from her for good.

Saethryd blinked and looked somewhat taken aback.

"Béma, that's something. I'm sorry if my suggestion made you fight", she said, her expression turning rather guilty. Despite her carefree ways and her occasional thoughtlessness, she was not a bad person at all.

"It's all right. You didn't make me do anything, after all", Lothíriel reminded her friend. "And we resolved everything afterwards, so there's nothing to worry about."

Her friend smiled again.

"That's a relief", she said, nodding emphatically. "Great Rider in the sky, I wouldn't want to fight with the Marshal. Weren't you terrified?"

"Not really. I don't see him that way at all", Lothiriel said, looking down at her hands and smiling slightly.

"Hmm. Somehow that doesn't even surprise me. Still, that man ought to treat you well, if he knows what's good for him", Saethryd stated firmly, as though she somehow had authority and power over the Marshal. Lothíriel couldn't help but grin, though she had to bite her tongue – the temptation of just spilling out everything was very bad. How would she have loved to tell her friend what exactly had happened last night! To reveal she was now spoken for, and by no one else than Lord Éomer himself! Indeed, it sounded too good to be true. But to Saethryd she was still just Daerien, and who knew how she would react to the news that the Marshal was intending to marry a commoner?

"Would you mind?" Éomer's voice spoke, as though her thought had summoned him; he towered over them with mugs in his hands, and his eyes were fixed on Saethryd. The girl grinned and jumped back on her feet.

"Not at all, my lord! I believe she's in good hands with you", she said cheerfully and left them alone again. Éomer offered the other mug to her, and she accepted it – he had got himself some ale, but brought her mead. Though her time in Rohan had more or less adjusted her to ale, she still preferred mead over the other drink.

With a smile he toasted his mug with hers, and he spoke, "To the future."

"To the future!" she echoed, smiling brightly. She had no idea of what that future might be, or how soon it would come. However, she had great hope for it – for with this brave, good man as her ally, she did not fear the path before her. He had come to her in a dream, just as she had appeared to him, and she could not take such a sign lightly.

It was perhaps the happiest night ever since her arrival in Rohan. There Lothíriel sat by the side of her Marshal, her head against his shoulder and her hand in his, her heart lighter than it had been in many months. Coming days would no doubt bring grief and shadows, and even now she knew nothing would be easily given or received, but for tonight she did not think of hardships.

For tonight, she simply _believed._

* * *

Éomer had eventually escorted her to the chamber she shared with her friends, for Lothíriel had grown tired after all the dancing and merrymaking. He had kissed her long and tender, but before he had bid her good night he had asked her to join him for breakfast: there was much they ought to talk about. And so next morning, as soon as she was up and dressed, Lothíriel made her way into Éomer's chambers. He was about already, but that she had expected – she had never seen him sleep late, and guessed it had to do with his warrior's training and duties.

He smiled as she arrived and came to greet her with a kiss. There was still an awkward shyness to her response, borne of her not yet knowing her way about their new relationship. His surety reassured her, though, and she relaxed against him as she remembered this was an entirely secure place. There was nothing to be embarrassed about when she was with him. And when she was rid of her anxiety, the kiss brought about that warmth she had first felt when they had kissed the night before yesterday.

When they were seated and had breakfast before them, Lothíriel finally made the question that had been on her mind ever since the night they had made their confessions to each other.

"What do we do now? What is to be our future?" she asked him, hoping that he had better idea than herself. But she did not know how these things were done in Rohan, and what did he think precisely when he spoke of marriage. It could very well be they understood the matter differently. The night before Yule and in the middle of the exhilarating emotion it had been easy to forget the questions of real life that came with daylight. Since then she had been able to consider the matter in a more coherent state of mind, and she knew this was something they needed to figure out.

Éomer did not respond at first – rather, he considered his plate of porridge for a moment in silence. When he spoke at last, his voice was thoughtful.

"In my ideal world, I would have asked you to marry me right away – last night, even, before the eyes of my household. But the night before I spent a while thinking of what is the wisest course we can take in this situation, and I do have some idea of what we should do", he stated slowly, lifting his eyes to consider her.

"I was wondering... Éomer, I need to know what you mean when you talk about marrying me. And if... if it's Lothíriel you want to marry, or Daerien", she said uncertainly, seeking his eyes in hopes of understanding.

"Dear princess", he spoke, his voice serious and soft, and yet it was warm as well, "I would not ask you to live your life as someone you are not. It is the real you I would spend my life with, and that is why I have tried not to rush. As a matter of fact, it wouldn't be wise for us to wed while you are still wearing your disguise."

"You mean people would think you had married below your station?" she asked him.

"About so, yes. Being a mistress is one thing, but becoming wife and the Lady of Aldburg..." he said and shook his head as his voice trailed off. Then he cleared his throat and he looked sharply at her, "You would probably get more reactions like Athilda's. You don't deserve any of that. As my wife you would also be a target to some who are not so friendly towards my House, and I do not wish to subject you to such dangers. You are safer this way."

He sighed and again a frown appeared on his face. He went on in a slightly lower voice, "Yet that is not all of it. You see. Among Eorlingas there is no marriage without witnesses. What they see _is._ And then my wife would be Daerien, not the woman I love. I do not think it is wise to reveal your identity right now, not with everything that is going on in this land."

"You mean to say you would be married to a woman who doesn't exist", Lothíriel said in a faint voice. That was something she had not even considered before now.

"Indeed. And that would be very inconvenient for us both", he said and grimaced.

"So as long as I am here to hide, we can't marry", she concluded. It made her disappointed beyond words, even though her rational side considered perhaps it was for the better. It would be foolish to rush into this head first, no matter how _right_ it felt in her heart.

Éomer nodded and reached to capture one of her hands in his own.

"It seems so, yes. In fact, it may be the smartest way we can go about this. For one, your father is not like to appreciate us eloping behind his back... I would like to have his approval and blessing before we marry. And we must consider your uncle as well. He had his plans for your marriage already, but if we can present this to him as a real alliance, one that has actual substance and meaning, then maybe we can get him on our side as well. And then peace is ensured between our realms and hopefully also the ties that bind our peoples", he explained to her, his eyes keen and hopeful. Quietly she considered his words and found them reasonable, even wise.

"When did you get so savvy in politics?" she asked him with a smile.

"Do you think I haven't been listening to you?" he asked back with a crooked smile that did strange things with her heartbeat. Elbereth, it was going to be _hard_ to keep her hands off of him.

But then another worrisome thought occurred to her. Lothíriel frowned and asked him, "What about your people, then? What will they say when they hear I've been lying all this time?"

"I think they would understand. The reason you came here is almost certain to win their sympathy, and it is not very hard to accept the reason you have had to hide your identity", he said softly and he gave a consoling squeeze to her hand. When she glanced at him, she saw a small s mile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He said, "Rohirrim love good stories. Yours is splendid one, Star-eyes."

"It only got splendid when you appeared", she muttered and blushed as soon as those words were out. She turned her hand and intertwined her fingers with his, "So you think we really must wait?"

"I don't see any other way about it. I may not know your father personally, but I'd rather like to do this right by him – and by you. Lothíriel, I need you to know I'm not seeking one night's pleasure. You are more to me than that", Éomer answered, smoothing his thumb across her fingers – his hands were much larger than hers, and always warmer. And his words... not that she had ever doubted him, but to hear him say these things out loud reassured her in ways she could not explain. And yet she wouldn't have expected anything less of him. From the start she had seen he was a decent man who cared about others, often even at the expense of his own happiness.

"Well, he'll probably insist on it anyway when he hears about all this. He will think I've been too close to you as it is, especially with the story of me pretending to be your mistress..." she said, shaking her head as she thought about what Father would say. It did not seem like they could hide from him the story about how Éomer had made sure she could stay.

She continued, "But you are right. He will appreciate it more if you properly ask for my hand, and that way it will be easier for him to sell it to my uncle. And yet I already know it's not going to be easy to wait."

"No", Éomer agreed, holding her hand a bit tighter. "It's not."

"Even so... I can't stress how grateful I am. Without you, I wouldn't have got this far", she told him; her breakfast was entirely forgotten to her.

"But you do know that you don't owe this to me? That you don't need to say these things in order to make up for anything?" he asked her suddenly.

She looked at him with some surprise. How could he possibly think any of this was because she felt she owed him?

"I may have to pretend a lot of things right now", she told him emphatically, "but this is one thing I'm deadly serious about, Éomer. You may rest assured of that. I think... I think I've wanted you from the moment I first saw you at my door, even if I didn't know then who you are."

Her words made him smile in a way she did not recall seeing before. Without a word, he stood up and came around the table between them, and then his lips were on hers once more. She felt like drowning in his kiss – or perhaps she was finding herself in it. She rose up as well, for their current position was rather awkward, and quickly their kiss grew heated as their tongues clashed and danced and she pulled him tight to her. His fingers went through her hair, then grabbed at her shoulders, burning their way down to her elbows... and she sought the warm skin at the nape of his neck, brushing under the collar of his shirt and _aching_ to reach deeper under the fabric. Oh, Elbereth! How were they ever going to make it to Dol Amroth to meet her father? How was she to hold back from this wild, passionate man until she was his wife?

Éomer broke the kiss at that point, long before she was ready to stop, and he pulled back to regard her. Between them there was fire, demanding and blazing. But somehow they rejected it then, even if it was well known to them both.

"Breakfast?" he asked her, his voice hoarse and low – they both knew their cups of tea had long since cooled down and their plates of porridge would be lukewarm at best. However, she knew what she ought to answer.

"Please."

So she suppressed her desires for the time being and thought of the high promises that lived in the words they had spoken today. Yes, there was anxiety in thinking how much easier this all might have gone if Father had just known about Éomer; she could be in her Marshal's arms this very moment without a care for tomorrow! But fates and chance had not paid much attention to her wishes since the start and she _was_ lucky to have found this horselord after all. And with their combined will and determination, perhaps a future shared would not be infeasible for them... perhaps there was hope beyond these darkening days.

And in that, she would place her faith.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay, my original intention was not that this chapter should be so massive. I tried to cut it in half, I really did. But it wasn't working for me at all. With the last chapter, the cut seemed somewhat fine. But in this one it was just _wrong._ I suppose it's because I just really wanted our lovebirds to finally talk about their feelings and about their future, and they had so much to say to each other. Well, I hope you did not fall asleep while reading this mammoth chapter, my dear readers!

So, Éomer and Lothíriel have finally confessed their feelings to one another, and they are very happy about it! I wonder if you have been waiting for this as anxiously as I have. ;) I must say it was _very_ enjoyable to write it at last, and finally having them be honest with each other. At any rate, I think they are both so giddy with joy and hope that they don't guess what is going to happen in Rohan soon, and so they believe they can wait for the time being. We will see how this goes when we approach the Ring War.

As always, thank you for reading and reviewing! Your comments, favourites and follows mean a great deal to me.

* * *

 **countess grazinsky -** For once I deliver! :D I hope you enjoyed this chapter and their confessions. This should definitely have an impact on them once the war comes!

I know there are people who don't particularly enjoy cliffhangers, but I can't help throwing them in every now and then. I guess I just like to keep my readers on their toes! In any case I'm very happy to hear you like this story so much.

 **AnonymousLKF -** Thank you! :)

 **Rangella -** Yes, it is such a new situation for them both, so they're kind of helpless. :D And drunk Lothíriel was very fun to write, too! I hope you were delighted with how their night ended. :)

 **malfoy lea -** Second-hand embarrassment can be unpleasant indeed, but I'm glad to hear it wasn't unbearable for you. She was thoughtless indeed (though also fun to write), but I think it was in good deal because of all the stress she has been in because of her confused feelings.

 **Katia0203 -** It turned out slightly better than that! Luckily for them both, Lothíriel sobers up significantly during their journey back, so he's not left feeling like he's taking advantage of her or anything.

Most of the time, demands don't bother me that much. I suppose I was just stressed out when I was updating the last chapter, and so it got to me more than usually. I know people just are eager to read more, but from a writer's point of view it can be a pressure, too.

 **coecoe11 -** I hope it was interesting enough! :)

 **Rinarwen -** Glad to hear you think so! :)

Oh yes, these two do become incredibly fun when they get drunk! :D Please don't give me such ideas, or I might just write it!

Usually I'm not so bothered by the requests/demands to update faster, because I tend to understand it as a sign people are liking what I do. But it can get frustrating at times.

 **Madam X -** Hope you enjoy this new chapter!

 **Rubandepluie -** Am I forgiven now? :D What can I say - I just love writing drama sometimes! But you are right - they have endured much with their repressed feelings, but it should get easier now!

 **Crissy8414 -** Thank you very much! :)

 **coffeebookchiller -** Thank you for your kind words! I'm flattered to hear you think so highly of my stories. :)

Love ducks - I love that expression! :D I laughed for half an hour when I first read your review. But yes, they have figured out their feelings and now they have talked about it as well! Things are looking pretty fine for them right now, even if they are not hurrying to get married.

 **Talia119 -** I guess I'm sorry? :D

 **Anon -** I thought so too!

 **Gnosienne -** Thank you! :)

 **Wondereye -** He has when he thinks it's necessary.

 **pbbalboa -** Here goes!

 **Anon -** We'll see how things go for them from here. I can't and won't reveal what is going to happen next, as that would ruin the reading experience, but at least the truth is out now and they know where they stand with each other.

I am quite flattered to hear that!

 **sailor68 -** Hopefully this chapter remedies that! It worked, in a way, though not exactly how she had thought! :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Two days after Yuletide, Théodred arrived in Aldburg. Unless something urgent required his attention back in the Hornburg, he at times rode to his cousin's town after visiting his father the King in Edoras. According to the Prince's own words, it did not make sense not to come, as he had already seen the trouble of getting halfway there.

While it was good to see his kinsman, there was also a sense of apprehension Éomer could not fight off. What ill tidings might be Théodred bringing this time? He knew all too well what was happening in Westfold despite the best efforts of the Crown Prince and Lord Erkenbrand. Though both him and Théodred had tried to speak to the King and urge him to muster the Rohirrim for war against Isengard before it was too late, so far their attempts had availed nothing. And no one except the King could call Eorlingas to arms.

Still and all, Éomer did summon a smile on his face at the arrival of his cousin, who looked more like a man who has spent a month hunting for orcs in the wild rather than emerging from the Yule celebrations of Edoras. It was too often so these days – the mantle of the Crown Prince was not a light one to bear in times like this.

"Welcome to Aldburg, cousin. I hope you had a pleasant Yuletide?" Éomer asked the older man, holding his horse's reins as Théodred dismounted.

"It felt more like a funeral than Yule, to be honest", said the Prince with a grimace as he rubbed his hands together for warmth. Lowering his voice, he continued, "Father is getting worse."

Éomer gritted his teeth. He had known to expect this, but still it made his insides boil with helpless anger and grief for the fact his uncle was slipping away from them. He remembered how wise and strong and good Théoden King had once been – how he had taken in two grieving orphans and given them a family again. He had loved them like his own and somehow, he had been able to close the wounds in their hearts. Éomer had never quite found the right words to thank his uncle for what the man had done for him and Éowyn, but he hoped his deeds and his loyalty would convey his gratitude.

"Please, come inside. We must talk", he said to his cousin at length, pushing back his concern for the time being. A quick glance at the tall figure of Athilda confirmed the ill-tempered woman was fast attending to the needs of the Prince's riders, making sure they would be fed and warmed up after their ride. Briefly he thought of what a chatelaine she would have made if she did not hold on to her prejudices and grudges so tightly.

Théodred followed at his heels as they made their way inside. Once they had stepped into the warmth of the Hall, Éomer was about to turn to look at his cousin and ask if he wanted to take a hot bath first before they spoke, but it was then he felt a light hand touch his own. Immediately his attention was brought to the young woman who had appeared to his side as quietly as a shadow steps in the night. Béma, she was lovely today, what with the roses on her cheeks and soft glimmer in her eyes. No matter what happened, she was still like a ray of light to hearten him.

"My lord, does the Prince require water for bathing?" she asked him, as though she had just read his mind.

"No thank you, lass. Maybe later", Théodred answered for Éomer, his grey eyes fixed on the young woman. Deciding it was better to just let his cousin know how things were, the Marshal reached to kiss her quickly – something he could not grow tired of doing, now that he knew she welcomed it entirely. After he had pulled back she smiled and curtsied before leaving them again, and the younger of the two men looked again at his kinsman. Théodred stood silent, but his eyebrows had made the intimate acquaintance of his hairline.

"Is she just a mistress, cousin?" he asked in a low voice.

"Not exactly, Théodred", Éomer answered under his breath and moved again, gesturing the other man to follow. When they reached his study and he closed the door behind them, he looked at his kinsman again, "I would tell you everything if I could. But her safety depends on my discretion, cousin."

The prince sighed and looked away. For a moment he was quiet, until meeting the Marshal's gaze again.

"She's not from the West, is she?" Théodred asked, though his tone made the question mostly rhetorical.

Éomer said nothing. The older Rohir already guessed enough as it was. He frowned and sighed again.

"At least tell me what she is to you?" Théoden's son inquired then, considering the younger man as though in an attempt to read his mind.

"She's someone I love dearly."

"Dearly enough to make her your wife?"

"... aye. That is correct", Éomer replied, and it seemed to him Théodred's eyebrows had permanently relocated under his hair. So he hurried to continue, "I know it must seem like I've lost my mind, cousin, but I need you to trust me. It will all make sense to you one day."

"If we get to live that long", Théodred said in a low, grim voice. "Have you thought about that?"

"I try not to. But if it comes to that... Théodred, if something happens to me, will you promise to take care of her? Make sure she's safe?" asked the Marshal, not quite able to hide his fear and concern.

His cousin did not look very happy, but even now the trust between them went too deep, even though Éomer knew he had no right to ask his cousin for this. As the two men gazed at each other, different in so many ways but like-minded in their love of the Mark and Eorlingas, the Marshal knew he could trust his Prince with that which he held most dear.

"That is a lot to ask when you won't even tell me who she is", Théodred said, his voice quiet and grave. "But I can tell she means a lot to you, and I know you wouldn't be asking this if her safety weren't important. You may rest assured she'll be looked after if things should go so ill."

"Thank you, Théodred."

* * *

The week that followed Yuletide was perhaps the happiest of Lothíriel's life, as strange as that was. Indeed, how could she possibly feel so happy when the world was growing so dark and dangerous? It seemed like nearly every day brought troubled tidings from the borders and beyond, and whispers said that the shadow moved in east darker than ever.

And still, in the quiet of Éomer's chambers, there existed a haven of light and hope. There were conversations like before, but new topics were discussed among the old ones: their plans and hopes for the future, and how it would be like when they were married. They both knew how uncertain everything was, they had no idea of when they would actually be able to travel to Dol Amroth, and perhaps the uncertainty was the very reason for these conversations about a more peaceful time. It was a way to seek for consolation when the prospect of war grew ever more tangible.

When they were alone in his rooms, she would often sit next to his feet, read something from his small collection of books, or perhaps do some needlework over the clothes she had been able to acquire since her arrival. She would lean against his shin and absent-mindedly brush her fingers across his knee, until eventually he'd not be able to fight the temptation anymore; he'd lift her in his lap and kiss her thoroughly. And often in the Hall, if she were close by, he would reach for her and pull her against his side or catch her hand in his. His favourite thing seemed to be running his fingers through her hair – it looked like he could have done it for hours at a time.

"Well", he said when she asked him about it, "you simply have the softest, the most beautiful hair I've ever seen on a woman. Many times I have had to fight myself bitterly in order not to touch it."

As an answer she blushed, but couldn't deny she felt not a small amount of delighted self-satisfaction. After that, she made a habit of combing her hair while he was around, and she kept it open as often as possible. It was certainly worth seeing the look on his face.

Though confessing their feelings to each other had resolved a lot of tension that had been increasing between them, some of it did not relieve. Rather, it was growing into unforeseen heights, and it manifested almost every time she went close to her horselord. Especially bad it got when they kissed, and she would begin to feel the heat grow in her veins, accompanied by a profound need to get even closer to him. Not a few times she would afterwards find the laces of her gown half undone, and her own hands were just as greedy in touching the man she loved. Several times it got very intense, and only with great effort were they able to pull back from each other – although doing so caused something almost like physical pain. Then Lothíriel would feel like she could scarcely breathe as she battled against the overwhelming _need_ , and he was staring at her with naked hunger in his eyes, his form utterly tense, and his hands pressing into white-knuckled fists as though it was the only way he could keep them in control.

And even when Éomer was not nearby she might still feel the air electrified between them. Often she was incredibly aware of his physical presence, though he was in the other chamber; it was as if silent messages were passed between their bodies, sometimes without the notice of their minds. This pull towards him grew more and more maddening with each day, even to the point where they could not share the bed anymore for the fear of what might be unleashed otherwise. At times she wondered at how very drawn to him she felt, and how much longer they might be able to resist this. In many ways this was much worse than anything she had felt before: at least then it had helped a little to think there was no emotion behind any of this. Now it was only propriety holding them back, and even that seemed a feeble thing when Dol Amroth was so far and future held no certainty. In fact, the only thing that was not precarious about her life now was Éomer himself.

Lothíriel had noted early on that there was something assertive about his air and movement. Her Marshal carried himself with the surety of a man who has chosen his place in the world, and stands proudly whether he is arrayed in full battle gear or a simple linen shirt. One couldn't say he flaunted himself before her – it was more that he didn't share her particular ideas of modesty. Before, his role as her safeguard, the growing tension between them, and his attempts to stay away had lent him a measure of what Aunt Ivriniel would have considered suitable behaviour. And now, when they had finally resolved where they stood with each other, all pretension had fallen from Éomer. But she understood it just was like that with him, though neither of them put it in words. For Éomer to share his heart was to share everything else about himself, too. In fact, where it was hard for her to bare her naked skin to another's eye but easy to open her heart, for him it was the other way around. And so he might change clothes even though she was in the same room, or wander in his rooms with only a towel covering him when he had come from bath, and he didn't seem to mind her seeing his hair or beard in various states of disarray, or to have the hem of his linen shirt untucked when there was no one else around. Fondly she thought her brothers, especially Erchirion and Amrothos, would have been horrified to let a woman see them so dishevelled. Éomer wore his skin and hair as it was, easily and carefree, which in her eyes lent him charm no amount of grooming could ever surpass.

He was no soft lord of Gondor, who rather sent his captains to lead battles rather than riding before his men himself. War had shaped this horselord and made him strong, and though he was taller even than most men who had the blood of Númenor, he did not share their lean and wiry build. Rather, he was like Rohirrim often were: wide, sturdy and hardy, almost as though rock made flesh. While generations of Númenóreans had lived in the bliss and peace of Elenna, Sons of the North in Middle-earth had grown strong and tenacious, weathering the cold winds and battling many dark creatures that had been bred in the Shadow. Even now that resilience lived in them and more often than not it was paired with bright vitality, as was in her horselord's case. And for better or worse, she was starting to see how very irresistible it made him.

Usually Lothíriel averted her eyes, more for her own sake than his, for he didn't mind how long and rapaciously she looked – and surely she would have liked to look longer than she did. Yet even then, she grew to love the fall of golden hair against warmly toned skin, the whisper of clean linen on a tanned neck, a glimpse of strong chest, big hands that were too coarse and thick to play delicate instruments, and a beard that rarely received more than a rough tidying.

Perhaps, then, it was only a matter of time that the question started to grow on her mind: would it be so bad to give in? They were going to get married as soon as possible. And truth was, she had never given much thought to what she would tell her own society once she got back. For one, she had no idea of when Father's summons would come, and for the longest time thoughts of returning had been too painful to dwell on for too long. But now she saw that when she would indeed appear in Dol Amroth again, people would wonder about her absence. Where had she been? Had she lived in a way fit for a princess? Who had been with her? When they heard she had been alone all that time, their questions would multiply tenfold. And if the story about how she had pretended to be a commoner and a Marshal's mistress would be revealed... well, then it wouldn't matter what she did or said. People would jump at it like a pack of dogs to a particularly juicy bone, and they wouldn't care what was the truth. She would be considered a soiled woman either way. From this point of view, what further damage could it really do if she and her horselord were to give in to each other? It was obviously something they both wanted, and her old life in Dol Amroth was already irretrievably lost.

And still, Lothíriel did not exactly know how to express any of this to Éomer. He wanted her indeed, of that she had enough proof. But he was honourable as well. Perhaps he thought they needed to do this right. He might even consider her a bad woman, wanton and unfit for marriage, just as men of Gondor would surely regard a lady who dared to suggest something like that... but then, this was Rohan. She remembered all the things she had seen and heard during her months here, especially Saethryd's words about men sometimes taking their mistresses to wives. And Éomer certainly did not seem to think her bad when she initiated a kiss or jumped to hug him tightly, just as he had never expressed any distaste when they had slept next to each other.

Be it as may, one of them had yet to make that pivotal move that would decide the situation for better or for worse, though Lothíriel had a feeling she was beyond recognising which was which.

It was bewildering, truly, to be so desired by a man. Ladies of her status were not supposed to incite or welcome such even in their husband; years in Gondorian courts had taught her that the most desirable thing about her was her connections. But the way Éomer kissed her spoke only of sincere passion, and it was overwhelming to know she was the target of it. Overwhelming was also the way her own body and instinct responded to it, and in the middle of a kiss she certainly wouldn't be content to lay back and think of Gondor. Here she was, a lady of a noble line, letting a man touch and kiss her so unashamedly and be _glad_ to feel these things! Aunt Ivriniel would be completely scandalised to know it had taken less than a year in Rohan for Lothíriel's life-long education in refinement and restraint to just fall apart.

Though she and Éomer had been pretending to be lovers for some time now, the night before Yule had irrevocably changed things between them. So, it was perhaps inevitable this shift would be noticed by others as well. A few days after Yuletide, Saethryd gave her a sharp, discerning look, and she asked, "Béma, what has that man done to you? Or you to him? Every time I'm near the two of you, I want to jump for cover because I'm afraid the air between you might just combust."

"We are simply getting along very well", Lothíriel said, though she couldn't quite hide her self-satisfied little smile. Her words made Saethryd roll her eyes.

"That is such an understatement, it's ridiculous. You have to tell me what your secret is, Daerien – how do you make the man so mad about you?" she demanded to know.

"Why do you want to know?" Lothíriel asked back. Now Saethryd was rolling her eyes so vigorously that the princess feared her eyeballs might just pop out.

"Béma, you're the most innocent person I've ever met!" said the other girl and she threw her hands in the air.

In the public, he would be less inhibited from touching her than before. Often he would pull her close and kiss her cheeks or her brow, resting his hands on her waist, and she did not even feel so embarrassed as she surely would have months ago. In fact, there was a thrill to these shows of affection and a kind of possessive joy as well: _this man is mine_.

The greatest challenge lay in not knowing how long it would take before they could truly begin their life together. Yet they still lived much in future and things that had yet to come to pass – and in many ways, it was a place of dream and ideal, untouched by war and the outcomes of growing dangers of the world. However, perhaps it was what they both needed right now, Éomer even more than her due to his ever increasing concerns and hardships. In dreaming their future there was some comfort, a bit of solace and warmth against cold.

One such conversation took place two weeks after Yuletide; he had returned weary and grim from a patrol, but it was not until evening that Lothíriel could join him and offer a bit of an escape from the world. So, when she had massaged him once more and most of his tension was gone and she was seated across his lap, he asked her, "What do you think your family will say when I come to ask for your hand?"

She considered the question for a while as she wove her fingers through the golden strands of his hair. If he were fond of her hair, so was she fond of his.

"Father might be surprised, even bewildered at first. But like I told you before, he's more likely to insist on us marrying than to try and prevent it... in any case, he spoke highly of your father, and I don't think he would have any reason to think ill of Éomund's son, especially when I tell him how much you have done for me", she answered at length. She looked at him then and spoke dryly, "I would think my brothers are more likely to give you hard time... I don't know why that is, but older brothers always seem convinced no man is worthy of their little sisters."

He chuckled wryly and pressed an absent-minded kiss against the side of her neck, making her tremble.

"As an older brother, I can confirm that is very true", Éomer said, his tone full of dry humour. Poor Éowyn was never going to find a husband with a sibling like him! But then his expression became sober again and a slight crease appeared on his brow, "Lothíriel, what about your life back in Dol Amroth? If things go as we hope they will, then you'll have to leave your home and your family for good."

"I have to move on with my life sooner or later, and I know now that life is not in Dol Amroth anymore. There's no going back to what used to be", she said at length, meeting his eyes seriously. "And to be honest... there was a time I thought I'd be like my aunt and never get married. But I don't want that anymore. I've seen how things are here in Rohan and I like it – I want to be a part of it not as Daerien, but as _myself._ I want to live, and I want to... to explore these emotions – and these desires – you are making me experience."

There had been moments when Lothíriel had rather seriously believed they might not be able to stop with their affections. But now, when she saw how his eyes darkened, and how flames burned and blazed in them, she was momentarily convinced he might just take her to bed right there and then. The grip of his hands did become tighter around her and his gaze more or less stripped her bare, but eventually he did win his battle against the mad, urgent need.

"Woman, you will be the death of me", Éomer said slowly and evenly, loosening his grip on her in a way that clearly spoke of the willpower it took.

"Well, I shall do my best to make sure it will be a demise you enjoy", she teased him gently; he made a growling sound deep in his throat – a strange, primal noise that had her trembling and brought again about that tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach.

"Stop it at once. I have only so much restraint, and you are not making this any easier", he told her, his eyes practically devouring her. Lothíriel thought of informing him he wasn't making it very easy for her either, but decided not to push her luck.

No wonder Saethryd feared the spontaneous combustion of air between her and Éomer. Lothíriel was starting to dread the very same thing.

* * *

It was a strange thing, Éomer thought to himself, that at such a time he should feel as happy as he did. His days were full of care, and yet he did not feel dismayed – rather, his mind was determined and clear. It even seemed to him like a veil had been lifted from his eyes and he saw things more sharply than ever. It did not make him despair, but rather filled him with a calm, single-minded understanding of what needed to be done. In Edoras, he pursued Wormtongue in arguments more fiercely than ever, with the result of gaining the extra men he needed for the evacuation of Eastemnet. Meanwhile in Aldburg, smiths were busy as tools of war were prepared and fixed, and all who could wield a blade were summoned to training; those who were not fit to ride were taught to defend the town, so that if an attack came, whoever tried to take this settlement would have to pay a heavy price. Food stores and supplies were taken to secret places in White Mountains, so that his people might still last even if the land was taken – perhaps even wage war in the fashion of Helm Hammerhand of old. Scouts were sent to keep watch over the borderlands, and his messengers rode to meet with the lords who answered to his command. When the war would come, East-Mark would be ready. And when he rode out of Aldburg, he did so with the knowledge that Lothíriel would be welcoming him back.

One could not exactly say he had been changed by her – she had simply made him see the man he could become, if he so wanted. It was a strange fate that this spring, this growth and clarity, should come to him at such a time!

And each night Éomer spent at home, he'd go to the source of that spring; in the quiet hours of the evening he was happiest. To himself he wondered: he had been so scared of loving someone, rejecting it as the worst that could happen. Now the thing he feared was returning into that state of being when he had been no more than half alive, and his mind had been more fixed on all that was dark and foul rather than on the things that were fair and good. This did not mean ignoring anything – he was as well aware of the cold facts as ever before. But it was different to look at them when he felt some _hope._

During those sweet hours she was often close by, perhaps doing some needlework or trying her hand at weaving ribbons, which were the wealth of maidens of the Mark. At times she'd look up at him and smile, very much unaware of how each of those looks impacted their target. Béma, the way she smiled! She was painfully beautiful and there were moments he was half convinced _this_ was some absurd mistake on her part... but then she'd slip in his lap, her clever fingers would disappear in his hair, and she would kiss him, betraying no dishonesty as she did so. The only thing Éomer could make of this was he was one lucky fool.

They would talk about many things, especially of the future. She spoke to him of the journey to Dol Amroth and they talked about how they would one day go there together to plead their case before her father. With a bright smile, Lothíriel described all the things she wanted to show him, half of which seemed so outlandish he had hard time imagining any of it, though she did her best to explain. Éomer did not particularly trust the idea of boats or eating things that came from the deeps of the Sea, but for her he would be more than ready to try out anything she showed to him. He also thought about Prince Imrahil, and wondered what that great and mighty lord would say once this became known to him. What would be his reaction when his only daughter returned from the Mark with some wild northerner by her side, and they asked for his blessing? Some sight it would be, her the daughter of Westernesse and him the son of the North! When he imagined this all turned upside down – that Éowyn had been the one to flee and seek exile in Gondor, and then return with some southern lord – he could not believe Uncle being particularly delighted about it. However, when he listened how warmly Lothíriel spoke of her father, he could not think the man could possibly want anything else than his child's happiness. There was reprieve in imagining the days to come, though he was aware often those imaginations took place in a world free of war. And the truth was he could not see very far ahead, or even guess what would be the fate of the world of Men.

What he had half known to expect and half feared were the moments when his willpower was very seriously tried. One evening as he sat on the edge of the bed and had just finished pulling off his boots, Lothíriel appeared from the washing chamber. She was dressed in a thin shift and her hair was damp, and he knew right away he could have done without the idea of her in a bath.

Before Éomer had time to turn away and get entirely rid of that very dangerous mental image, she was already talking to him: "Can you fasten this for me, please?"

He saw her holding in her hand the necklace he had given her – she had been wearing it ever since. He didn't know why it seemed so important but he was glad she seemed to like it.

He was not even thinking when he was already reaching for the necklace. Sitting down before him, she gave it to him and lifted her hair on one shoulder, and so exposed the back of her neck. Éomer had to get fairly close to her to be able to fasten the delicate piece of jewellery, and then he realised what a bad, bad idea it was to be so near. Her skin was warm and smooth and its shade was rosy from the bath, and her scent...

Before he even knew it, his lips were already against the nape of her neck, showering her skin with kisses and hungering for more. To keep his hands from wandering around her form and gripping her tight to him, he grasped handfuls of blankets instead, because if he touched her now then Béma knew what would happen. He could feel her tremble slightly and she leaned back towards him, which thankfully snapped him out of it.

Éomer pulled back sharply, though it took serious effort to be able to do that. Even as he did, wild thoughts were running through his mind, urging him to kiss her again...

"You should go and stay with your friends for the night", he managed to speak out loud; it required him to look away from her in order to keep himself in line.

"Is something wrong?" Lothíriel asked worriedly, and he could feel the gaze of her painfully lovely, bright eyes on him. Béma! The longer this went on, the more hopeless he was becoming. He had thought it was hard to keep away from her and conceal his feelings – now he saw it had been a child's play compared to _this._

He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, fighting back the raw _want_ that was still threatening to take over. Thankfully, he was able to talk in a way that almost sounded like normal.

"It's not that. I just keep forgetting my boundaries when you are so close, and I don't want anything to happen you would regret later", he said to her, careful of not meeting her eyes.

"... I don't think I would regret anything", she said in a soft voice, and her words had him gripping the blankets once more; she went on before he could really wrap his mind around what she had just said, "but I do see your point."

So, while he was still sitting down and battling the voice that was urging him to just get up and grab her, Lothíriel picked up her shawl, leaned down to kiss his cheek, and bid him good night. Then she was gone, which was both relief and disappointment. In his veins, blood was still racing like liquid fire.

 _Béma,_ he thought to himself, _it will be a wonder if we can keep this up._

* * *

Around two weeks after Yuletide, Lothíriel finally had a chance of going out riding with Aengifu. Lately, weather had not been in favour of riding trips, and anyway cleaning up after the celebrations had kept the household servants busy for a good deal of time. After the day's work, none of the girls felt particularly energetic or eager of going out into chilly winds.

But eventually a fair day arrived, much to her pleasure. It was one effective way of taking her mind off of things – especially when Éomer had ridden out once more, hastening to investigate some news about a band of orcs trying to enter Eastemnet. Upon hearing the tidings, she had seen his eyes flash in a way that had alarmed her, and once more she had remembered the story of Éomund and Théodwyn. It was now closer to her mind than ever before, and for reasons she could well name. Thankfully, Éomer had not reacted rashly, but rather prepared with a number of men, and only then he had ridden out to meet the enemy.

As for their goodbyes, those had been very different from before. Earlier, when their relationship had still been just friendship, there had been some words and an occasional hugs. Then as the things grew heated between them, both of them had been careful of touching each other.

Now she sent him on his way with a tight embrace and a multitude of kisses, which he eagerly returned. She insisted him to be careful and look after himself, which Éomer reassured he would do. Then he was gone again and the aching sensation where her heart was supposed to be was now many times as intense as it had been before.

"Béma, it's a good thing there are no bogs this close to Aldburg. Otherwise you would be riding straight into one", Aengifu's voice interrupted her musings and brought her back to the present moment. Unknowingly her friend had also reminded her of some memories she was not very fond of, and Lothíriel shuddered as she thought of her poor gelding drowning in a fen. Her friend noticed, and with a frown she asked, "What is it, Daerien? Is something wrong?"

"I just remembered something I'd rather forget", she said, fighting not to grimace.

"Well, you were far away moments ago. Is it your Marshal you were thinking of?" Aengifu inquired. For one reason or the other, Lothíriel's servant friends were now calling Éomer "her Marshal", as though the girl they knew as Daerien actually had some claim on the man. But then, wasn't that how she thought of him sometimes, too?

"More or less", Lothíriel responded, looking down at her hands, which held the reins. Apparently, many Rohirrim knew how to ride without them and the saddle, but she had yet to work up her courage to try it out. The only way she could imagine being brave enough was if Éomer instructed her, and was close by to catch her in case she fell.

"Saethryd was right. You and him together are so sweet, it's disgusting", Aengifu said and let out a pleased little sigh, as though this state of affairs was the result of her long labours.

"And you two are just full of nonsense", Lothíriel stated emphatically, making her friend laugh.

"Still, you have to admit it's something lovely – hopeful even", said the other woman, glancing at the dark-haired one riding beside her.

"Hopeful how?" Lothíriel asked warily.

"Dunlendings have been our enemies for generations, and things are getting worse again with them. Yet here you are, and it is rather obvious you and the Marshal are fond of one another", Aengifu answered, smiling slightly. "It's hopeful because it shows an Eorling and a Dunlending can get along and like each other. It shows maybe things could get better. Maybe we don't have to be enemies."

"I won't say it's not a nice thought", Lothíriel muttered, frowning to herself. "But I am hardly a prime example of a Dunlending."

"Aye, but you know situations like this always get simplified. Just look at Athilda, if you want proof of that. You have never been anything but Dunlending in her eyes", Aengifu pointed out.

The dark-haired woman did not answer. She sighed to herself and gazed ahead, thinking again of how much she would have liked to tell the truth. It was not least because she didn't want anyone wrongly thinking of her as some bridge between two peoples that had been at war with one another for generations. What would Aengifu say then, if she heard all this time there had been a Gondorian princess working by her side? Would she still consider Lothíriel her friend? Maybe Aengifu would be hurt she had not trusted her, but had spent all these months lying about herself...

"Daerien?" Aengifu asked, probably sensing the troubled mood on her friend.

"I just wish all this might have come to be in a different way", Lothíriel said softly and lowered her eyes. Indeed, how simple would it have been, if Father had just known about Éomer... he could have arranged something between them, and she could have lived proudly by his side – not as an exile he needed to protect, but as his equal companion. She could have been someone to help him, support him openly, and care for him as a wife would. But the situation would have been different then, and could she have accepted one arranged husband instead of another her uncle had purposed for her? Would it have looked like she had to choose between two unbearable options?

She remembered her dream of him at the night of the storm. He had not appeared to her for nothing, she knew that now. After all, hadn't she been at his door as well? Exile or companion – or both! – her fate was intertwined with his.

Lothíriel shook her head and looked at her friend once more, "Let us head back to Aldburg. It's getting late."

They did not talk much as they galloped back towards the town. The westering sun lit their way and there was wind in the long grass, brown and dead before the new spring. Lothíriel thought of the beauty of summer on these plains and wondered if she would see that season again in the Mark; by now, she had learned not to trust her future over much. Even without all the tidings of war, there was still the chance her father might summon her back home... though she had a feeling maybe he wasn't be able to do so, even if the uproar surrounding her disappearance had long since calmed down. If Gondor was struggling with same perils as Rohan, then Father might just believe it was safer for her to stay put here rather than travel back. After all, he had no reason to think she wasn't well protected with her knights.

There was a burst of warmth when they sighted Aldburg and began to approach the town. The sensation came as a surprise to Lothíriel, because it was similar to how she had felt back in Dol Amroth when she and her brothers had returned from sailing, or when she had been to a lengthy riding trip, and they would see the city before them. As though she had needed further proof of her grip on her old life growing more and more loose!

The guards let them enter, knowing the two young women by their faces. They lifted their hands in greeting, as was the habit whenever one would ride past the gates of the town. Yet if a stranger, especially a foreign one, should try and enter, their way would be swiftly cut and their intentions interrogated.

Even as they rode in, Lothíriel noticed the unease on the faces of the guards. Instead of the smiles they usually greeted the people they knew, they were frowning and looking concerned. Glancing at Aengifu, she saw her friend had noticed this too. Though they did not speak, she knew they both were now wondering if something had happened while they had been out of town.

The two women made as much haste as was possible and safe – they didn't want to ride anyone down on their way up to the Marshal's Hall – and Lothíriel thought many of the people they passed looked just as worried as the guards had been. She too grew worried, hoping that she was just imagining things. However, Aengifu's expression betrayed she was uneasy as well and holding herself back with great effort.

When they entered the courtyard, her fear was only fuelled: here and there she saw Riders, some of whom had obviously returned from a terrible battle. Several of them were limping and leaning on their comrades for support, there was one man with his arm in a sling, and other whose face was almost entirely wrapped in linen. Near the doors, Lothíriel saw Athilda with her arms around the shoulders of one weeping woman. A lance of pain and compassion went through Lothíriel's heart, for she knew exactly why the woman would be crying like so.

And with it, a thought pierced her mind: _Where's Éomer?_

As though to answer the panicked question that was consuming the entirety of her focus, Saethryd came outside the Hall. She was looking around as though in search of something, and when her eyes hit her and Aengifu, Lothíriel knew the meaning of that stare. Now her already heavy heart seemed to altogether just drop in the bottom of her stomach.

In one swift movement, she flew from the saddle.

"Is he all right? Where is he?" she demanded her friend as Saethryd hurried to meet her.

"He was injured – there was a battle –" Saethryd stammered hastily as she grabbed the reins of Lothíriel's horse, "Just go."

The princess was already running for the Hall. Her heart hammered against her chest painfully, and all the blood it pumped through her body seemed to have become ice; she thought of him lying barely alive and motionless, covered in horrific injuries... she raced half-blind through the Hall and its corridors, running twice into other servants as she made her way. Lothíriel had to fight in order to force open her jaws in order to utter her apologies.

When she burst into Éomer's rooms, she stopped dead on her tracks. She did not have to make her way to the bedchamber, where she had first thought he would be. Such intention became needless when she saw him, alive and strong.

He stood on his own two feet, naked except for a towel around his waist; the left side of his chest was largely bruised and his forearm had been wrapped in linen from wrist to elbow. On the side of his cheek there were two longish scratches, which thankfully did not seem very deep. His hair hung damply around his face and the glow of a hot bath still lingered about his skin. At once, Lothíriel's fear and worry were replaced with overwhelming relief, though she also felt a twinge of annoyance. Saethryd's behaviour had made her believe Éomer was much more severely injured than he apparently was.

Be it as may, he was safe and that made her glad beyond words, and so she more or less jumped to embrace him. But in the middle of that motion she realised such a violent clash might not be in the best interests of his battered body, and so she landed against him rather clumsily. He received nonetheless, though she wondered if the collide punched the air out of him when she heard him let out a soft gasp.

"Éomer! Are you all right? Are you in pain?" she demanded to know breathlessly, holding him tight as if that could shelter him from all future harm.

"I'm fine. I'm not in pain – anymore", he answered, looking down at her. She saw his eyes were weary but relieved, and slowly his arms wrapped around her. She was closely pressed against his chest, which reassured her more than she could have said. He was warm and alive and he was in her arms.

Taking a slow, deep breath, she spoke again, "What happened?"

"We fought against a great number of orcs. We thought they were already fleeing the realm and so pursued them to the borderlands, but they had split up, and we were caught between the two parties... it could have turned out very bad, but my éored was able to prevail", he explained quietly, his gaze shifting away from her face as though he still saw the battle before his eyes. She shivered, sensing how closely death had brushed by him.

"I saw those injured men outside, and then Saethryd came... she said you were wounded and I... I immediately thought the worst", she murmured, holding him a bit tighter.

"There was a lot of blood on me when we arrived. Mine and other man's. I suppose it startled everybody, including your friend", he said quietly, lifting his right hand to brush hair from her face.

"I'm glad you are fine. Well, mostly", she said and carefully touched the bandage on his forearm. "Does it hurt?"

"Not much. I'll survive", he reassured her and a small, warm smile touched his weary face.

"You'd better", she muttered against his lips as she tiptoed closer, and then she kissed him long and slow. Oh, if only she could chase away all memories of darkness! Her Marshal seemed to appreciate it, or so she guessed by the soft little moan he made against her mouth. She could feel tension leaving his form at last as he wrapped both his arms around her again to hold her tight. His warmth enveloped them both and she never wanted it to stop. But eventually, she had to breathe again. She also remembered she had to ask him something.

"The other man, the one whose blood was on you... did he make it?" she wanted to know when she was able to speak again. The expression on his face darkened immediately and whatever had been soft about him was gone again.

"No. He didn't. He died in my arms", Éomer answered quietly, and when he spoke those words, he looked _old,_ older than mountains and seas. He seemed to have the face of a man who had just seen _too much..._ which he probably had.

"I'm sorry to hear that", Lothíriel said gently, idly running her hand across his back in a comforting gesture, finding here and there old scar tissue and smoothing her fingers over them even more gently, as though such a touch might heal all memories of pain. "Don't blame yourself for it. I'm sure you did all you could to protect your men."

"I should be able to do more. I should..." he muttered under his breath, his voice betraying the great grief he felt. Even without him saying so, she knew how he battled with his idea that no matter how much he did it was never enough – that somehow he should have been able to do more. Her heart ached for him, for he was younger than Elphir and Erchirion, and yet he carried all this responsibility on his shoulders, being the one so many looked to for protection and strength, and trying so hard to guard his home and people in a world that kept growing more and more dark.

"It's all right. So many of us are safe and free because of you", she murmured and kissed him once more, pressing tight against him. In her own mind and soul burned something deep and demanding, something that wished to take away all that burdened him – she wanted him to feel warm and alive, and forget the grief of this world if even for a moment.

Perhaps it was this wish that impacted the kiss, for it was different now. There was something urgent about it, desperate almost – as though time was running short and he was about to leave her for ever. But it also awakened that deep, primal need that these affections often made her feel, and quickly the kiss became something else than the act of comforting a loved one. By the demand of instinct, she gripped him tightly, bringing her hips closer to his, and a low groan rose from his throat. His skin was hot and alive under her greedy fingers, tensing once more, though not in discomfort this time. And his hands! One was holding her by the nape of her neck and the other roamed down her back... then he was gripping her bottom with both hands, cupping her through the fabric of her leggings, bringing her tight to him. There was too little between them to mask the impact this embrace was having on him and it thrilled her, fuelling further her touches and answers to the kiss.

Was it by her doing or his that the towel fell? Lothíriel could not say. All she knew was suddenly she had nothing but naked skin under her hands, tight muscle and scars and _heat,_ and it made her feel so alive that it was as though before this moment she had only existed in half. She realised he was now closer to her than any instance since they had first kissed and this thought made her tremble in excitement and delight... but there was also the urge to get closer still. What sense was there in holding back anymore?

He ended the kiss before she was at all ready, pulling back to stare at her, his eyes dark and fiery and wild. Her skin was burning for his, burning to _give in_ , yet there he just stood doing nothing! She wanted to yell in frustration.

"Don't stop", Lothíriel whispered, her voice a raspy little demand.

"I don't want to stop", he answered just as hoarsely, "but you are so lovely, and I am just a man."

She stared at him without a reply, and he answered the gaze in silence. It wasn't like she didn't know what she should do – she ought to pull back immediately and get as far away from him as possible. If she stayed now... she knew already what would happen. And yet she did not want to go or leave him to his dark musings.

She was ready and willing. And like she had resolved in her own thoughts, she knew her good reputation was already lost. And Eorlingas did not believe this was something to be ashamed of, but rather a thing of joy. She remembered Éomer's explanation how his people regarded physical love as a celebration of life itself. Then she had wondered about it but now it made all the sense in the world. What sense was there to any of this darkness and war and grief, if there were no light and love and joy to balance it out? Many months had already passed since she had come to seek shelter in Rohan, and Father had not contacted her. Maybe it meant war had reached Dol Amroth too and there was no going back... maybe this was the only life she had left.

And Éomer had asked her to marry him. If they were lucky enough that they should both live beyond these days, then he would travel with her to Dol Amroth and ask for her hand in marriage. What else could Father say than yes? And what else could she choose than to _live_ while she still had a chance?

Resting her hands against the sides of his neck, Lothíriel could feel how rapid his pulse had become. Éomer stood absolutely still, as though that was the only way he was able to retain control over himself now. Yet his eyes were dark flames, burning through her, through all that she had told herself in order to keep away from him. And so, meeting his gaze steadily, she made her choice.

"I don't want to hold back anymore."

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** *heavy breathing*

This chapter turned out fairly different than it was in my original plan. In the first version, our lovebirds were much more proper and in control of themselves, but I eventually realised that simply isn't what would happen, not when you consider how their relationship has developed so far. There has been just too much tension growing between them and I saw that it would only get more difficult now that they know where they stand with one another. And it seems to me this is a more delicious read than what I had in my originally. ;)

We see in this chapter Lothíriel resolving it wouldn't be so bad to take her and Éomer's relationship even further. I would say it's a moderately easy decision for her to make: she has been in Rohan for so long, she has started to lose her touch with the life she once had. She even wonders if she will ever go home again. So, having been so long away from her own society, the rules and the ways of her own people, it's difficult to hold on to that world when it's so far from the one she lives in. And, like she tells him, it's unlikely she could go back without people wondering and asking questions just what did she do during her time in Rohan. In her present condition, taking that final step doesn't seem like the worst thing she could do. So, to put this shortly: we are seeing the psychological effect of her long stay in the Mark. And, to be honest, I can't imagine it being easy to be so close to the person you love and desire so much, and always having to pull back from them!

Oh, and I know that ending is a rather frustrating one, but you know me! I can't help myself with my cliffhangery chapter endings.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **Snowparrot -** Thank you! :)

 **Anonymous -** Hope you liked it!

 **Gnosienne -** Thank you!

 **Anon -** Glad to hear that!

 **outlawwoman -** It was much awaited indeed!

 **Rinarwen -** I'm glad you liked it! :) I had great time writing it as well. And your art is always much appreciated!

Also thanks for your considerate words. I'm on a bit better mood now, though some things remain rather stressful. But at least I've got this relief valve called fanfiction!

 **Anon -** Yes, at that point he was simply too done with the situation - he had to find out what was happening between them. Luckily for them both, she was finally able to open up to him and they could talk about everything honestly. I'm happy to hear it was to your liking!

To me, it did not seem like they would be intimate just then - it just didn't feel like the right place. I think they both (but especially Éomer) were still a bit wary of their new relationship and were still finding out what is this new thing between them. But as this chapter should show, they're quickly back in business and the tension which has been growing between them is now getting too much to bear. As for where things will go from here, I can only let the story tell it! But I'm happy to know my writing has such an impact on you. :)

And it's fine to speculate, even though I'm not able to answer any of that right now! I do get the fun of it, so don't worry. :)

 **A -** Glad you liked it! :) We'll see about that marriage thing sooner or later!

 **mazzmataz** \- I must admit it was rather fulfilling to finally get to write that part and share it with you. They have tiptoed around each other long enough.

 **notyetanotheralias -** Happy to hear that! We'll see what happens when the war comes!

 **sailor68 -** It was long overdue indeed! The Ring War is getting nearer now, but a few more things need to be said. I think at this time it's simply too dangerous for Lothíriel to travel, and Éomer can't exactly spare the men to send with her. Not to mention, he'd like to make the journey with her, and be there when she explains everything to her family.

 **Rubandepluie -** Glad you liked it! :)

 **lisamariem -** Here comes!

 **Rangella -** Good to know you think so! Things had rather been building up to that moment, so I'm glad it delivered the expectations.

 **Talia119 -** Yes, some chapters just demand to take their time while others are not as tight. Sometimes the story just flows like that when I'm writing.

No angst in this chapter - I think I owed my readers something sweet and fluffy after all the pining these two have done as of late. ;) But yes, right now the idea of going to Dol Amroth is not a very tangible thing to them. It's more of a way to escape the reality, talking about this future without war.

 **coecoe11 -** Happy to hear it was a good read! Hope this chapter is enjoyable too. :)

 **pbbalboa -** It was needed, I think, after how long they have yearned for one another! But it's good to know all that is coming across so strongly. :)

 **AnonymousLKF -** Yes, Éomer would feel that way, especially at that point when he was so disappointed and believed maybe Derehild had given him false hope. But when he realises he has been too coarse with Lothíriel, he backs down.

 **meldisil -** At least, they are not very keen on waiting right now!


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

 _"Don't stop... I don't want to hold back anymore."_

Éomer was dreaming. He was dreaming or he had finally lost it, and all this was some sweet and elaborate but still entirely impossible vision that was happening just in his mind. How else could his princess be standing there in his arms, confident and unafraid, and asking for something he had only dared to imagine in his wildest dreams?

And yet there she was, warm and real and her bright eyes held him as though he was spell-bound.

"Lothíriel..." he uttered her name, only vaguely aware of how his voice sounded like half prayer and half song. Thinking clearly was hard with her so close and he just wanted to _let go,_ to give in to the desire he had been fighting against for so long now. But he had to make sure she understood.

So he cleared his throat and spoke again, though words did not come out easily, "Lothíriel, there is no going back from it."

She looked up at him and smiled slightly. Now there was nothing innocent about her gaze; the lost, terrified girl he had found on the plains was gone and instead there was a woman before him... and her shine was almost too much to bear.

"There has not been going back since I left Dol Amroth", she told him softly. "My old life is long gone, Éomer. My knights are dead and no one can vouch for me. When I return home, I will be considered a soiled woman no matter what I say or do. And... to tell you the truth, I really don't care about it anymore."

"If you let me touch you... Lothíriel, you might conceive. It's not that I wouldn't want children with you – in fact, nothing could make me happier. But this is not the time it should happen", he told her solemnly, fighting desperately to hold himself back. The things she had just said... Béma, this was torment! However, he couldn't be so reckless now – he had to make sure...

"It's fine. I've been drinking Heagyth's moontea for months, even if there was no real need... I didn't want to make people wonder why I don't get pregnant", she explained, blushing slightly. When she continued, she looked endearingly shy, "I'd like to start a family one day, too. And I'd love to have your children. But you are right we should not let that happen right now. Don't worry – I wouldn't be saying any of this if I wasn't prepared."

For the longest time Éomer could only stand there and stare at her. Who could have guessed the strange ways their lives would go? That he would be here, now, with this young woman who was just as lonely as himself, and craved for warmth and closeness as desperately? They were both alone, they both battled with sadness... it made beautiful sense, really, that they would find faith and comfort and joy with each other. In his heart, she was already his wife and he wanted no other woman by his side; if she was so sure there was no return to her old life, he didn't see how her father could disagree. And if she desired this like Éomer himself did, then how could it possibly be wrong?

And how could he refuse her anything she asked for?

In the end, giving in was easier and sweeter than he could ever have guessed. In fact, it felt a bit like being free at last after a long captivity. He kissed her again, keeping it slow at first... but then her clever hands roamed down his back and their touch quickly reawakened his interest. He became vaguely aware of her kicking off her boots, though she did not break the kiss while doing it, and then suddenly she grasped his hands by wrists. At first he thought she had changed her mind and wanted him to stop, but then she guided his hands to the hems of her tunic. He did not need another hint.

Inches upon inches of smooth, pale skin came free from clothing, and he wanted to kiss and worship all that was uncovered before him – he had never savoured undressing a woman as he did _her._ There was a roundness about her curves, even more delicious than her clothed form had previously suggested, and he liked the way his hands melded against her, as though his palms and fingers had been made to touch _her_. Like with all the most beautiful things in the world, there was a sadness to it as well. For this was the first time he would see all of her, the first they would be together, and no matter how many times this would happen in the future, it would never be like it was tonight.

And when Lothíriel was bare before him, all he could think of was how he had never seen anything more beautiful, and though there was a blush on her cheeks, she did not seem timid or afraid; she was slender and strong like a wild flower that grows on a mountainside in defiance of winds and the cold, and the fall of her long dark hair against her skin surpassed all his imaginations. His princess was not smiling, but she did not have to – the light of her eyes mocked the very stars. She was not a delicate rose that would wither without the southern sun, but as resilient and fair as any northern flower.

Then she was in his arms again, smooth and warm and mellow, and holding her so was like a dream – her breasts pressing against his chest, her hands in his hair, her skin alive against his... and maybe this was a dream, for how else two people so different yet so similar could find each other in this dark and sad world? Her hands were bold, bolder than he would have expected, making it something of a challenge to concentrate. Eventually, Éomer had to catch her wrists gently in his hands, which had her halting and looking up at him quizzically. Béma, she was painfully lovely! Her hair was tousled now, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen, and in her eyes there was curiosity he could only describe as _hungry._ He had been right to think this woman would be his demise.

"I do desire your touch", he murmured against her lips, "but I want this to be good for you, and for that I must be able to concentrate."

He was so close to her, he could feel the corners of her mouth rising in what could only be a rather wicked smile. Great Rider in the sky, they had not even reached the bed yet and she was already becoming unhinged!

"I shall remember that for later. I'd love to see you distracted", she told him in soft, teasing tones. A groan rose deep from his throat before he even knew it and the need for her was becoming unbearable. But he'd be damned if he lost control now.

"You will know plenty about that before all is said and done, I imagine", he informed her and then kissed her once more, half because he needed to and half to prevent her from telling him more of those dangerously seductive things.

Then as her breathing grew more erratic and her kisses more demanding, he felt the right moment was approaching, Éomer lifted her by the back of her knees; Lothíriel wrapped arms about his neck and her ankles locked tight just at his lower back. Her lips were all over his face, almost completely out of control.

"Please", she whispered hoarsely, "please..."

Now it was his turn to smile. The woman did not even know what she was in for.

And when they reached the bed, there at last was the vision which had so mercilessly haunted him: her long dark hair spread against the white pillows, her eyes full of love and desire for _him,_ and fire's light dancing on her skin. For a moment he had to stop just to admire this sight before his eyes, savouring it and taking secret joy in the knowledge he was the first man to see her so. He also intended to remain the _only_ man.

But then she made an impatient little sound and reached for him, and he was happy to kiss her again. He drew it as long as he could, so that her pleads became more like demands; and yet there was also such delight in tasting her skin for the first time, finding out where she was most sensitive, gorging himself on _her..._ she had long since switched from Westron to Rohirric and at last to Sindarin, though presently her little moans would probably have made very little sense even to a native speaker of that tongue. But then her hands gripped his hair and she did it – she called his name, her voice holding a note and a colour he had never heard in it before, and that was his undoing.

There was no waiting anymore. So Éomer shifted, found himself welcomed by his beloved princess, and then -

 _Ah, Béma!_ She was so warm, so soft, she was light itself; all his griefs and doubts and fears were just _gone_ and all he knew was _her. Lothíriel, Lothíriel, Lothíriel..._ her name was a chant in his mind and on his lips too, the sweetest word he had ever known. And he never wanted this moment to end, he wanted to stay in this shining instance for ever, and at last he understood everything, all the tales and songs and the very spirit of his people – love _was_ life and before her he had not been truly living.

Now he was, and Béma help any who might try to take it from him... from _them._ For as he reached his release, only moments after her final cry, he knew now there was not just him anymore. _I_ had become _we_. From this night on, and for every night he would live in this world, she would be the shining light in his heart.

* * *

Though Lothíriel could not say she hadn't dreamed of sharing the bed of her horselord, in the end she decided not one of her imaginations came even close to the reality. It was strange and exciting to be so close and intimate with another person, and at first she had not known what to do. It had taken a long moment to adjust to the weight of his body on hers, though he had supported most of it with his arms, and the slightest shift of her own made her sharply, incredibly aware of how he felt like. Even the simple act of breathing was different when they were so united, and her head was dizzy for the amount of new and unfamiliar sensations. Eventually, she grew comfortable enough and tentatively moved her hips, to see what would happen if she did. Her lover sucked in breath and she saw his eyes rolling back in sheer ecstasy, and she knew immediately she would have great deal of fun in finding out all the ways he might respond to her. She told him she was fine now and then, following his lead, she quickly got an idea of what to do – they would have to work on her technique, but he showed her a way through it, and at the end all she could feel was pure, glorious happiness.

And against such bright and wonderful emotion no regret or dread of future existed, even if she knew she should not have succumbed to this desire, but after months and months of holding back, of being alone and sick for some comfort, she just... she wanted to feel warm, feel loved. She did not want to be alone anymore.

Afterwards, warm and loved were the exact things she felt; enveloped in the arms of her lover, there was such bliss as she had never imagined before. It was like coming home at last after a very long day, and being welcomed into such affection as no other place in the world could offer. Where things would go from here she didn't know, but with him by her side she didn't feel afraid.

He held her close to himself as he showered her face with little kisses; he delivered them with a kind of gentle clumsiness that revealed he was as beside himself with joy as she felt. They were both still trembling and she wondered if she had ever felt so very alive, so aware of everything around her. The feel of sheets and his skin, the strong, spicy smell of their bodies, his face and hair and mouth... it was all heightened somehow and she was in delighted shock of having made love for the first time to the man she adored.

"Are you all right? I did not hurt you?" Éomer asked in a shaky voice in between the kisses.

"Of course not. I'm fine. I've never been so fine", she answered giddily, capturing his lips with her own. He made a soft sound deep in his throat and the grip of his arms around her tightened. Yet she felt it was not tight enough, for she wanted to get closer still, no matter how sore she felt – to be separated now seemed to be like she only existed in half.

"You have bewitched me, Star-eyes, and I am your willing slave", he murmured against her lower lip, and the vibration of his voice teased the sensitive surface, sending thrilling little shivers through her.

"I do not want a slave. I'd rather have a..." she whispered, but then she halted as she searched for the right word in Rohirric, "I'd have _hæmere."_

"Aye, I could do that", he said, kissing her once more, though before he did, Lothíriel could see the great light glimmering in his eyes, and she thought she had never seen anything like it. But then her attention focused on other things, such as thick calloused fingers trailing their way down the naked skin of her back, and instead of thinking she concentrated on _feeling._

And in her heart, she knew no vow of marriage could ever make her closer to him than she already was.

* * *

Lothíriel had eventually passed out around midnight, safely nestled in the arms of her horselord. Her sleep was deep and dreamless that night and when she woke up just after dawn, she felt rested and peaceful – though also desperately in the need of a wash.

Éomer still slept next to her. One of his arms he had wrapped around her, pressing her tight against him, and the other was tucked under the pillow. She had hoarded the greater portion of blankets to herself during the night, but apparently he did not mind. She didn't mind either because it allowed her a nice view of him, which she could now appreciate without the man distracting her with one of those kisses that made her toes curl and turned her mind hazy with pleasure. She thought everything about him was long and warm and defined, from the shape of his limbs to the tone of his skin and the vitality he glowed even as he lay sleeping. From the stories of her grandfather Lothíriel knew the Eldar called Men the Children of the Sun, but never had she met anyone who earned that name as well as this horselord. And he was everything she had never thought to love.

She settled down again, resting her head against his chest. The steady thrum of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest almost seemed like lifelines, and she considered maybe it was not so wrong to describe them so. Éomer had been her constant from the moment she had first seen him on the plains – her guarantee of staying hidden. He had not provided her merely with a roof over her head, but also with a sense of normalcy, a chance to be herself. He had given her hugs when she had needed it, and allowed her glimpses of his mind and heart. And he had accepted her as so, treating her as a person who had valuable opinions, instead of just some naive little girl who couldn't possibly offer him anything worthwhile beyond her family name. No wonder she had fallen in love with him so desperately... as she gazed at his face, his strong features softened by sleep, she knew her heart would always remain _here,_ no matter where life would take her.

He shifted then, perhaps sensing through his sleep he was being observed. Éomer cracked open one eye and when he saw her, a lazy smile appeared on his face.

"Good morning", he said, his voice hoarse from sleep. The raspy sound sent a shiver of thrilled anticipation through her.

"Good morning", she answered, reaching to kiss him. There was something like relief to it, no matter how forbidden and outrageous this all was; no more boundaries existed between them, and there was no more holding back. How she had yearned to kiss him if only once, and now she knew he welcomed each and every one of her kisses!

It ended eventually, but he did not draw back from her. He stayed very close and one of his hands idly ran back and forth over her arm. She marvelled quietly to herself how _natural_ this all felt to her, as though this was not the first but just one of many mornings they had woken up in each others' arms. Well, she had been sleeping by his side many nights now, but never like this... never like she was his wife.

"Is this really happening? If this is just a dream, then please tell me so right now", he spoke so softly his voice was half a whisper.

"I don't think it's a dream. For one, I have hard time believing I could have dreamed _you",_ she told him in gently teasing tones.

Éomer chuckled under his breath, "Aye. You would have to have a rather twisted sense of humour for that."

Lothíriel snorted as an answer, but the sound ended as a gasp when he rolled on the top of her in one swift movement. The answer of her body came almost as fast as she savoured this sensation of feeling him so against herself, all that warm skin she had so greedily gazed at before and fought to resist. What would she have given if there had been a way to freeze time, so that they would never have to leave the bed or face the world that was grey and grim behind the warm light of this room!

"Still, if this is a dream, I must enjoy it as long as I can", he growled against her lips, and as she welcomed him, she agreed he had a point.

Dressing had never taken as long for her as it did that morning. But Lothíriel did not expect any different, what with a very distracting, naked horselord showing himself off. She was almost certain he did it on purpose, and each time he caught her appreciating stares, he seemed to grow a bit more smug. This light-hearted, smiling man was a wonder to her, though an entirely delightful one, and she decided she would like to see more of him in the future.

And really, how could she possibly refuse the aid when she was washing, when it was so readily and temptingly offered – even if it almost resulted in them returning to the bed? But eventually they remembered they would be late for breakfast if they kept this up, and so the last pieces of clothing were sought for and thrown on rather hastily. Not to mention she was still rather sore.

Although they were already late, he did not hurry with the kiss he gave to her at the door of the chamber when they were finally fully clothed and ready to face the day.

"I am riding to Fenmarch today", he told her when he had pulled back somewhat, "but I'll be back by evening."

"Make haste", Lothíriel informed him firmly. The hours between now and night seemed unbearably long. But he had his duties and she had to let him go, and so, after one last kiss, she allowed him to leave the circle of her arms.

When she watched him go, noting something almost like lightness about the set of his shoulders and the way he held himself, a strange feeling expanded in her chest. It resembled a deep ache that walked a thin line between pain and joy... like her body was aware of something her mind did not yet comprehend.

 _Elbereth,_ she silently called to the Lady of Stars, _just let me keep him. I will ask for nothing more if I can have this one thing._

* * *

Lothíriel had already believed that she could not possibly feel any greater happiness. She had thought her joy when she and Éomer had finally shared the honest truth with one another could not be surpassed. However, over the week that followed their first night together, she quickly came to the conclusion she had known very little yet of happiness. On the other hand, the part of her that still retained a resemblance of coherency wondered if their joy was so great because it was contrasted with so much darkness.

Be it as may, that one week at the start of February was indeed the happiest she could remember of her life. While day hours went mostly by as they had until now, there were shining instances that somehow transformed it all into something exciting: no matter how brief the moment was, spending it with her lover made all things new and wonderful.

Each morning she woke up by Éomer's side, and often it was his kiss that pulled her back to the waking world. She could not imagine a better way to greet a new day, though it also meant they would not be getting up before they knew they would otherwise be late for breakfast. Most days, they were; when Lothíriel rushed to sit with her friends, who were already halfway through their portions, they just looked at her and shook their heads, while she greeted them and gave them a sheepish smile. She did not tell them how wonderful it was to wake up to every morning with someone so dear, though she felt Derehild probably knew anyway.

When her beloved came across her in the Hall, he would stop by her side and pull her to him, perhaps kiss her too, if the occasion allowed. One such time, as she was sweeping the floor of the Hall, she was distracted from the task by a pair of strong arms wrapping around her from behind. Then there was a bearded face nuzzling against her earlobe and cheek.

"I'm supposed to be working, you know", Lothiriel said, though she could not hold back her smile – to say she wasn't pleased would have been a crude lie. He growled softly and the sound vibrated against her skin in a most delightful fashion.

"Hmm. You feel good", he merely said, holding her tight to him. She trembled in pleasure at this rather intimate embrace and her knuckles turned white as she gripped the broom more tightly.

"I do?" she asked, growing breathless at this prolonged contact. Elbereth! How was she to focus on work now?

Éomer helpfully solved that problem for her. He unfastened his arms from around her and instead took her hand in his own. With a brazen smirk, he stated, "I need help. With my bath. Care to come and aid me?"

"Of course, my lord", she answered, putting her broom aside. As she followed him, both of them trying not to run, she considered only very briefly how much they seemed like a pair of newly-weds.

Afterwards, despite her attempts to smooth down her hair and the wrinkles in her gown, the other sevants seemed to know exactly what had been the reason for her disappearance. Saethryd did not even try to spare her saucy remarks, but Athilda's cool eyes narrowed momentarily, and Lothíriel was almost certain she saw the chatelaine's expression become even more dour than usually. But she was much too happy to let the woman bother her mind for long.

One morning he was able to spare some time to go out riding with her, even if it was only for a couple of hours. With a smile, she remembered another time they had gone riding together, and what had happened then. It was odd to think of all the months that had passed since then, and how profoundly things had changed. To herself she wondered if he was thinking about taking her to that very same place again, and carry on from where they had left at the time. While the thought was a tempting one, Lothíriel also knew they would not follow through with it while winter still lingered. There was chill in the air now, the grass lay dead and brown, and they stayed on the move to keep their steeds warm. Even so Éomer promised they would seek some sheltered dale when summer came. That season seemed ages from now, and they both knew the tides of war could very well crash over them before it. But there was still joy and solace in imagining carefree days spent under the sun and loving each other in some green meadow when the flowers were in bloom.

Best of all were the nights. She more or less wolfed down her dinner under the amused eyes of her friends and then hurried off to the Marshal's chambers. Usually, he was already waiting for her. She would jump in his arms, and then for a while talking was mostly unnecessary or even impossible. Lothíriel thought she had never felt so alive as she did when she was in her lover's arms. But another thing she had not experienced before was how comfortable and confident she felt inside her own skin – how it seemed like she was now more _herself_ than she had ever been, and in her veins coursed a new hunger for life. She would boldly wander through his rooms, her hair flowing freely down her back and wearing no stitch on her body, and the heat that grew in his eyes made her feel strong and desirable. And she understood she was more than just the name of her father or the connections of her House. She felt no longer like some guileless girl; instead, when she now looked in the mirror, a _woman_ was staring back.

And if she was confident in baring herself, there was also surety in touching Éomer _._ In fact, she rather loved exploring the broad expanses of his skin, memorising the texture and colour, the lines of his limbs and the solidity of his form, and all the little things that were uniquely _him –_ and she was delighted to see his expression when her touch raised his desire. But there were many things that were mundane too, like reaching or climbing over him to get something from the night table, sharing portions of food with him, or helping to wash parts of his back he couldn't reach easily, or playfully angling herself between him and the washing basin and feeling his body right behind her own, or even making little braids in his hair during the late hours when both of them were still reluctant to sleep. After a particularly long day, she would have him roll over to lay on his stomach, and as she had settled to sit on him, she worked some more of her backrubbing magic on the man. Lothíriel was fairly certain she would never forget the way he had retaliated after _that._

She loved the way light made his skin look, be it under sun or flames, and the fluid way he moved. It was a warrior's gait, confident and bold. He was never bashful before her or tried to cover his body, and she thought even naked he carried himself as proudly as a king draped in silks and velvets. There was something very vocal, almost forceful about his physical presence, as though his tall and broad form simply was not enough to hold all that was _him._ Lothíriel had also noticed Éomer was often reserved towards those he was not close with, but when he got lost in his thoughts, his emotions passed across his face unguardedly. So he often found her staring at him when he had been in the middle of some task, and with an embarrassed little smile she merely said she liked to watch him. That made him smile as well, and he told he liked to watch her, too. Often she saw – or felt – the proof of this, when dark, burning eyes fixed on her.

Sometimes, a sensation came to her – half gleeful, half possessive – when she looked at him doing something as simple as pulling on his trousers. It sprang from the knowledge only she was allowed to touch him, that she _could_ touch him any time she wanted, and that he was all hers.

Then there were talks, between everything and nothing, as flames became lower and lower in the fireplace and hours passed in this place where sadness did not exist. One such night, when they were cooling off after a hot bath and she was idly drying her hair, he happened to ask about her home.

"What do you miss most about Dol Amroth?" Éomer inquired in those rich, deep tones that only appeared in his voice during these precious golden hours.

"I rather miss the Sea. I don't suppose that comes to you as a surprise. And the storms! I loved to listen to the thunder rolling over the sea, though I also hoped no one was at its mercy", she answered, smiling slightly. The thought of home was not painful anymore, as it had once been. "I didn't often get to be by myself, but when I could I often sneaked alone to the beach. I took long walks there, just listening to the sound of waves and the seagulls... it can be very calming, you know. And I went riding along the surf whenever it was possible. We must do that together when we go to Dol Amroth."

"It sounds pleasant. Perhaps even pleasant enough for a landlubber such as myself", he said with a wry smile, and she laughed.

She went on then, "I must admit I'm dying to get my hands on my father's library again. He has a large collection – it is said to be second only to the libraries of Minas Tirith... well, my forebears have had a lot of time to collect books and scrolls wherever they could find them. And every time Father went to visit the White City, he'd bring a new book with him. Elphir and me were always competing on who would get to see it first", she said, fondly reminiscing the days that now seemed so far away in the past.

"And I miss the foods. Sweet Lady Uinen, I think I could kill for some oysters!" she said rather forcibly. Yet once more a smile returned to her face as she recalled back, "My brothers and I used to go sailing when the weather was good. There are these tiny islands near the coast, and there you could gorge yourself on as many oysters as you could ever possibly want. I suppose we were a bit strange in that, because most noble families think them the food of the common people. We spent entire afternoons like that, much to our aunt's dismay when we couldn't eat a thing at dinner..."

Éomer asked then what exactly was an oyster, and a while she spent describing it to him. He frowned and shook his head, and she gathered he did not really trust this strange food was edible.

She grinned at him and reached to pat his stomach.

"There is also this fish, which is considered a great delicacy in my city. They are poisonous, but if you cook them right, they are very tasty. But if you do it wrong, their poison can kill a grown, healthy man", she said, enjoying his look of bewilderment. She went on, "The young men of Dol Amroth eat them for sport, because that's how you prove how brave and unafraid of death you are."

Unsurprisingly, Éomer scoffed and crossed arms under his head.

"That sounds like something you would only have to come up with if you had never seen real danger", he told her with some distaste.

Lothíriel smiled fondly. Of course a bold, seasoned warrior like him would think so.

"That's probably what it was in the beginning. Things haven't always been so bad with the pirates and we have had times of peace when we could invent such things. And the fish really _is_ very tasty", she said and put aside her towel. Then she crawled next to him and he wrapped one arm about her shoulders. For a while they rested so, both savouring the peace and warmth of each other.

"Are you sure you want to leave all that behind? I know you have endured remarkably well during your time here, but I cannot pretend to be able to offer things you had in your home, and Dol Amroth is far from Rohan", he said and a slight crease formed on his brow.

She lifted herself on her elbow to look at him properly.

"My dear, what do you think I expect you to offer? The time we have been together has already made me happier than anything. If you will always be here for me like this, then I am more than content. Éomer, I've already given up the life I had in Dol Amroth. Maybe I didn't realise at the time, because I thought I could return soon enough... but we both know there is no going back to what used to be. I've accepted and made my peace with that already", she told him, and he met her gaze in silence. His expression was serious.

Eventually, he seemed to relax somewhat, and he let out a quiet little sigh.

"I just wish this could have gone differently. That you didn't have to come here the way you did", he muttered, and Lothíriel settled in the crook of his arm once more.

"I wish that too. But we can't live by what should have been", she said, idly running her fingers across his chest. "And would our paths ever have crossed if my father had not sent me here?"

"I don't think even Béma knows that", he said in a low voice and turned to kiss her once more.

* * *

The strangest thing about the whole affair, Éomer thought, was the act of being so intimate with someone both physically and emotionally.

This occurred to him some days after their first night together, and he was returning from a long ride to a small village east of Aldburg. The evening was getting late already, and in some other situation he might have decided to spend the night in the village instead of returning to his seat. But he was too impatient to wait until tomorrow, and so his company was now raicing back home. Wryly he thought himself a rather lovesick fool, the way he had to actively struggle in order to keep his mind from _her._

As they rode, he thought the situation was as new and unfamiliar for him as it was for Lothíriel. He was not used to baring his more private thoughts so open to others than Éowyn or Théodred, nor had he expected to _feel_ so much during lovemaking. It was not just a physical relief with his princess, but also a way of being close to her both in body and soul. He couldn't help but smile when he thought of how easy it was to talk to her even about things he'd normally bury deep inside, just as it was easy to love her. He mused it was because Lothíriel was so fully present when they interacted, listening carefully when he spoke or answering affections eagerly. There was a mental strength about her, though sometimes it seemed to him she was not aware of that herself.

Ultimately, this change, this giving in to what they both truly wanted, felt _good_ and it was relief every day. Especially it was so when he remembered how painful it had been to keep pulling away from her. In a way, it felt like some pieces that had been missing for a long time had finally clicked to their places. And more than ever, even since Yuletide, he was finding _this_ was a source of faith instead of a liability.

Éomer smiled to himself as he slowed Firefoot to a softer canter – they were nearing the gates of his town now. He had been rather in the middle of his thoughts during the last stretch of the journey, but now he glanced about, and felt sheepish when he noticed his men only starting to catch up with him. Firefoot, gifted to him by Théodred, had strong _mearh_ blood, which made him slightly faster and stronger.

Éothain was the first to reach him and as the captain rode by his side, Éomer took notice of the way his friend was grinning.

"What are you smiling about?" he inquired, though to himself he thought maybe Éothain was just happy to be going home to his pregnant wife.

"Nothing", Éothain answered at first, but his smile did not subside. Éomer lifted his eyebrows sceptically, which the captain noticed. His smile widened slightly, "It's just good to see you happy, laddie."

The younger man wasn't sure what to say to that, though he wasn't surprised Éothain had noticed something had changed. The man knew him too well, and anyway, there _had_ been some alterations one couldn't miss. But what Éothain said next he didn't see coming – or, to put it more precisely, he hadn't thought about it that way.

"I have to say, that serving maid of yours is a marvellous thing. I don't know anyone else whose mere existence has brought about so much hope", his captain stated, gazing ahead.

"What do you mean by that?" Éomer asked, frowning as he looked at his friend.

"Well, it's not that you weren't a wonderful Marshal before. No one could have done a better job, and if you need proof of it, then just look at how bitterly you are hated by those who wish ill for the Mark. But it's different now, old friend. It's like you have hope now too, where you had none before... hope that maybe we can do more than just take with us as many of our enemies as we can when we go down. And people tend to notice things like that about their leaders. So, if you have hope now, then maybe there _is_ a better future beyond these days", Éothain explained, speaking quietly as he looked at his friend.

And Éomer couldn't say Éothain was wrong. Lothiriel had changed things indeed, and after Yuletide his mood and focus on Marshal's duties had been of a more positive kind. What he had not noticed was that this had somehow reflected upon others as well. But there was also a more personal side to it: with her, he felt like he had so much more at stake with the future of Rohan. Not only because of who she was, but also because he wanted her to be a lady of a fair, prosperous land – not face the hardships of a destroyed realm with burned homes and ravaged fields.

He looked ahead again, gazing at the road before them, which was steadily climbing towards the Hall.

"She is marvellous indeed", he said at length, though that word didn't even begin to describe all that she was.

"But what does Théoden say about it?" Éothain asked warily, his smile vanishing from the way of a more serious expression.

"Nothing", Éomer said colourlessly. "It is not official, Éothain. Nor is it going to be while this situation lasts."

His captain looked at him with some doubt.

"What situation is that, precisely?" Éothain asked, far more discerning than Éomer liked. The Marshal did not answer, and his friend went on, "She has been here for months already, and still you won't tell me anything."

"I would, Éothain, if I knew for sure it was safe and I was free to speak. Believe me, I'm not keeping things from you because I somehow enjoy it. But there is a promise I must keep, and holding my silence is a part of it", said the taller of two men, and he looked at his friend solemnly.

Éothain looked at him in silence and did not push him to say more – he wouldn't try to make his Marshal go back on a promise. Still, he did not seem entirely happy.

"And what would happen to her if you were not able to keep your promise? If you weren't around to protect her?" Éothain asked, sensing too much of the truth to Éomer's liking. But even then, he knew his captain was trustworthy. Still, he frowned and gritted his teeth as he sought for an answer. He did not want to lie, and least of all to his good friend.

"Do not ask more, Éothain. If I should be indisposed, I imagine you would learn all that you possibly could hope for – though I'm starting to have a feeling in that case, it will matter very little", he stated, and he wasn't sure if it were those words or the grimness in his voice that finally had his friend falling silent.

They had now reached his Hall. Éomer told his captain to go ahead and see his wife, and the older man looked grateful; after telling him good night, Éothain hurried along. As for the Marshal, he would have to see to the needs of his men and the horses before he could call it a day. Joining _her_ was a tempting thought but he held it back, knowing she would be waiting for him.

The Hall was already quiet and dark when he passed through it some time later. He walked swiftly now, eager to get to his princess. It felt like she was calling him from afar, pulling him to her. The earlier conversation with Éothain was now gone, and all he could think of was the only moment of the day that would bring any relief.

His rooms were dim and only the embers in fireplace gave any light as he kicked off his boots and dropped his cloak on a chair. After quickly adding some peat to the fire, he headed for the bedchamber, and smiled at the sight that greeted him there. Lothiriel had curled up on the bed and was fast asleep. He couldn't help but notice she was dressed in one of his own shirts – apparently she had decided they were more comfortable than her own night shift, although he was that much wider by the shoulders it looked like she was wearing a tent. Not that he minded, really. Sometimes, if he happened to dress in a shirt she had been using the night before, all day her smell would cling to him and it would feel like he carried her with him.

He undressed quietly, letting clothes fall where they may. Then he slipped down next to her and gently pulled her close, inhaling her warm womanly scent.

Ah, the bliss! If there were a greater happiness than holding one's beloved like this, when the world was far and mind knew only peace, he was not aware of it.

She sighed softly and snuggled closer, her fingers searching for his. Then she quietly murmured, "Welcome home."

"Glad to be so", Éomer whispered against her lips, and then the effort of holding back became too much. She was warm and sweet and sleepy, yielding against him like a dream. The woman was _irresistible,_ he thought rather dizzily _._ She spread her arms for him and he was undone just like that.

Some time later they were both considerably more awake, especially because these late hours of the night were the only time they could have some precious few moments together. At times, it lead to them both losing sleep, but Lothíriel's presence, her touch and her affection, renewed him with something less tangible but far greater than mere sleep would.

He left her side to get himself a drink, revelling the deep sense of contentment that came with lovemaking. When he stopped to pour himself some water, he glanced at his lover with a smile and nearly spilled the drink all over the stand. Béma, was there anything more beautiful than a naked woman sitting in such confidence, her legs crossed and her shoulders held proudly, and the delicious flush colouring her skin? She was regarding him with a thoughtful expression and her grey eyes glimmered in ways that just fed that fire she had ignited in him. Had he known it would be like _this,_ he wouldn't have even considered holding back. And sometimes it was overwhelming to think of what a long way they had come since the day he had found her on the plains, terrified out of her mind. Now she was his lover... and she was the woman he intended to marry.

"What are you thinking?" the Rohir asked, masking his reaction. The vixen often used these little slips to her advantage, if she noticed – rather devious of someone who had come to him as an innocent.

"I just keep wondering", Lothíriel said at length and she moved to lean her chin on the cup of her hand. "I keep thinking about the dreams we saw. I wish I knew what it means."

Éomer quickly downed his drink and then returned to the bed, sitting down by her side. She reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers – she was often touching him in such small ways, if she was close. Well, not always in just small ways!

"There are many things in this world that defy our understanding. That much you have taught me, Star-eyes. I admit it frustrated me greatly at times, first wondering if I had lost my mind and then growing even more bewildered when I saw you with my waking eyes... could it have been to hearten us both against what was to come? I do not know", he said at length and reached his free hand to run it through her soft hair.

"Well", she spoke, smiling softly as she did, "I at least would have been far more frightened of you, hadn't I seen you at my door... it's the reason I dared to trust you in the first place. Even if you stood in your armour in my chamber, and your sword was bare and dripping with blood, I was not scared then. It was like... like a friend was talking to me."

He had to blink at hearing that. Surely any other woman would have screamed bloody murder if a strange man with a blade in his hand appeared in her room in the middle of a night?

She seemed to know what he was thinking, as she smiled wryly, "Remember, I come from a family of warriors. I can think of far more frightening things than an armed Man who is obviously not a corsair."

"I suppose that makes sense", Éomer had to agree. Then, unable to hold back a shameless smile, he told her, "As for you, my lady Star-eyes, when you paid me your late night visit, you were only dressed in your night shift. And you wore your hair loose! I think that was the start of this obsession with your hair. You really can't make an appearance like that in a man's own bedchamber and think he will be fine afterwards."

His princess blushed a rather delightful colour, and she grabbed a pillow and hit him with it.

"I should have known! You are obscene, my lord!" she exclaimed, though by the glitter of her eyes he knew she was not so cross with him as her words implied.

"I'm glad you noticed", he chuckled, grabbing at her wrists to stop her hitting. But she was a quick, agile thing, and she avoided his hands easily – at least until he decided to cheat. And that was by using considerably larger body to capture hers. Lothíriel squealed and squirmed under him, but he was a relentless captor.

"Do you yield?" he asked her, his lips inches from hers.

"Never!" she answered, staring at him with those shining eyes of hers. If she was captured, so was he. And he never wanted this night to end.

He dipped one knee between hers, driving her thighs apart.

"Do you yield?" he asked again, and receiving a refusal, he reached for the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Ah, how smooth and soft was the skin under his fingers! Where Brithwen had been sinewy and tough, this exiled princess was made of silk and mellow warmth, and yet her sweetness made her strong beyond his understanding.

He asked again, and again, and still she declined, though he could see her eyes grow hazy with pleasure as he kept persuading her in the most sensuous manner possible. She was squirming again, and she was switching between Sindarin and Rohirric in a rather disjointed manner, telling him what a horrible man he was. But he knew how to wear down his opponent, and when she was more or less pleading him to stop holding back, he asked: "Do you yield?"

"Y-yes, you villain", she gasped, and the words were barely out of her mouth when he brought their bodies together once more. She responded rather fiercely, rolling them around and taking control before he even knew it. Now it was his turn to yield, which he did gladly. And he was lost in this moment, the raw aliveness that coursed between them, the wild passion on the face of the woman he loved, and the knowledge this night, just as each one before it or after, _could_ be the last they had together. In the shadow of war and death, their tale might come to an end swiftly and mercilessly. Yet if such a fate was in store for them, at least no one could claim they had not _lived._

When she collapsed on him, gasping and spent, Éomer wrapped his arms about her slender form. It was a tangle of limbs, they were both sweaty from the night's passions, and her hair was in his mouth. But as she rested her head against his chest, all he could think of was how very much he loved her... and how lucky he was that this princess had come into his life.

Carefully he rolled his lover to his side, so that she might rest more comfortably, and with a small sigh she snuggled close to him. For the longest time, he could not find any words to speak of what he felt just then, and by the time he decided the simplest thing was also the best, she was already half asleep.

"I love you, Lothíriel... the lady of my dreams", he said softly, and he wondered at how his own voice sounded like.

She didn't answer, not beyond a few mumbled words he couldn't make sense of, but lay against him at the verge of sleep.

 _Oh well._ Perhaps he'd hear her respond some other time... for now, it was enough to just be here.

And with that, he let go as well and let himself follow her to the land of dreams.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** *heavy breathing* Well, I surely hope I managed to resolve the sexual tension that has been building up between our lovebirds! I don't know why, but this chapter wasn't easy one to write, but that probably has to do with how busy I've been lately. Anyway, I hope you liked this update!

If you follow my tumblr, you'll know I was struggling with two alternative plots for this story. There was the original version I had in mind when I was starting to write this story, and the second one that emerged when I had some ten chapters done. As you know, I eventually decided to go with the second version, and with this chapter we have more or less diverted from my initial plan. In that original version, Éomer and Lothíriel didn't become lovers at this point of the story. But after I had spent some time thinking about the two versions, and which one made more sense, I realised I had already unconsciously made way for the second one. Their relationship had just grown too sensual too soon for the original plot to be valid anymore, and them giving in was more likely than holding back. And, I must admit, my inner romantic feels like they have earned some fluffiness after all the pining and yearning for each other!

As such, we aren't yet getting to events of the Ring War, but it's not long now that things will start to roll!

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 _hæmere =_ husband

* * *

 **Anon -** Yes, you are quite right about that. The circumstances simply aren't in the favour of holding back anymore. And I must admit some of my readers might come after me with vengeance if I made them wait longer. :D

 **sailor68 -** Glad to hear you think so!

 **A -** Sorry? :D Hope this chapter makes up at least!

 **Katia0203 -** No worries, she's got that covered already! I think he's not thinking of marrying her right now because it's not like they can live openly as a married couple as long as she's pretending to be Daerien. For them, it's enough that they have already made their pact.

 **vilaspa -** Thank you! Hope you enjoy this update!

 **Madam X -** Thanks! Happy to hear you liked it. :)

 **Wondereye -** Yeah, it's definitely moving forward in spades!

 **coecoe11 -** Thank you!

 **Anonymous -** Here you go! :D

 **meldisil -** Yes, it was rather inevitable! Even I had to agree to that eventually, though I meant to do this differently. And yes, they definitely are enjoying it quite a bit! :D

 **laure -** Thank you! I'm glad you enjoy the story. :)

It's definitely not easy for Lothíriel to keep the truth from her friends. Partly it's to because she fears what their reactions would be, if they learned the truth. But it's also because she feels she can't thrust that responsibility to them. She knows very well how hard it is to hold on to her disguise, and if she told them who she is, then they would also have to bear the burden of always remembering who she is supposed to be. Moreover, she doesn't want to endanger them.

As for why they haven't thought about writing to her father, it's mostly because it's not convenient. Would the letter reach Dol Amroth? The road is perilous, like her journey in the beginning shows, and there is a chance the letter would be intercepted along the way - it could even end up in the hands of her uncle, which would be most unfortunate. There is also the question what it would make Imrahil think. He might panic needlessly, or understand things wrong. So, to put it shortly, they want to explain him everything face to face.

Hope you continue to enjoy this tale!

 **Talia119 -** It was indeed the more natural way things would proceed. There has been just too much tension between them, it had to be resolved.

She is still taking moontea, though up until now it hasn't been out of actual need. At any rate you are right - Éomer is going to have an interesting time explaining this all to her family! :D

 **Tibblets -** Thank you! :)

 **pulchritudo in omnia** \- Thank you for your kind words! I'm glad to hear my story has inspired you so much. Best of luck with writing, if you do get back to it! I'd be interested to read your story, especially if it's É/L!

Hope you liked where their relationship has gone now!

I usually do have a rough outline for my story, but sometimes things may change more or less, and the direction of the story may be impacted by it. This time, there was actually a major shift from what I had originally in mind, partly because I realised the story wasn't really going to where I had thought it would, and partly because the new version really seemed like the more interesting way. :D

 **AnonLKF -** I'm glad to hear that! :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

 _February 3019, Aldburg_

Lothíriel had known from the start that they would have to return to the reality eventually. They could not hide in their nest of warmth and love forever, not in a time like this. And Éomer was ever more desperately needed at the perilous borders of the land. So, too soon after they had first become lovers, he had to ride away again. As she watched him go for what seemed like the thousandth time, she wondered if they could have chosen any worse time to start their relationship. But then, what other time, or what other way there would have been for them? War and misfortune did not ask whether it was convenient or not.

With a sigh, she returned to her duties, already yearning for the moment when Éomer would return.

Later that evening, when she was going through her things back in the chamber she shared with her friends, she saw something was missing. Her frown must have betrayed her right away, as only moments later Aengifu asked: "Is something wrong, Daerien?"

"I thought I had stashed moon tea here", she said, going again through the small collection of belongings she had acquired since coming to the Mark, kept next to her bedroll.

"Oh, I borrowed some. I thought you had more at the Marshal's chambers", Saethryd said, not looking up from the sock she was darning. When Lothíriel did not say anything, she lifted her eyes and her brow creased, "I didn't think you would mind."

"It's fine", said the princess at length, though some concern gnawed at her mind. She had already used the last she had kept in Éomer's rooms, and she had not drank any since the day before yesterday. And they had been intimate this morning before his departure... she shook her head and thought not to worry. She'd get more from Heagyth tomorrow, and brew a slightly stronger dose. It would be fine.

"Do you ever think of raising a family?" Aengifu asked suddenly, and both women looked at her with some surprise.

"With Folcred? I don't know, really. I'm not sure if he's home-making type", Saethryd said thoughtfully. Then the two glanced at Lothíriel, who had already forgotten her earlier worry.

"Maybe one day", she said softly, lowering her eyes to stare at her hands. As long as she was just Daerien, family was not a possibility. Yet, as she thought of Éomer, she knew he would be a wonderful father. Even if he often tried to hide it, just as he tried to guard that part of himself, she knew there was so much love in him, and so much to give. There was no difficulty in imagining him with several fair-haired children about his feet, dangling on his arms and riding on his shoulders. It was no wonder that these visions came with an ache like the one that began to throb in her heart. All of that belonged to Lothíriel, not Daerien. The latter would never marry him, be his lady, or bear his children. And she was more anxious than ever for the day that she could put aside this false person she had used as her shield and cloak.

So, in following days she often thought about what they could do. Perhaps they might write to her father and explain everything? Maybe they could marry soon, without having to wait until they had talked with him in person? However, she knew she could not compose such letters behind Éomer's back. They needed to make decisions of that sort together, and it wasn't like she had the authority to send one of his Riders on a road so long.

Thankfully, he returned at the end of the week, even if it was just for a couple of days. He would soon be riding to Edoras once more and he didn't know yet how long he would be in the capital. But before that, there was a couple of days repose for them. When she welcomed him home in the courtyard, she more or less forgot herself and kissed him in an entirely shameless fashion. As such, it was only later that night – and after greeting him properly – that she mentioned the letter and explained him her desire to contact her father.

However, Éomer's face betrayed he did not take this idea very well. His expression, which had been soft and relaxed until now, became grave.

"Lothíriel, I understand why you would like to write to him, and I do not blame you. But you know the road is perilous and these times are not good. I cannot be sending my own Riders to such a long journey when they are needed here, protecting our people", he said gently and sat up on the bed. He reached to brush hair from her face, and he continued, "And there is also the possibility the letter is intercepted along the way. There are many who would pay handsomely to learn that the Princess of Dol Amroth is very much alive, and hiding here in Aldburg – your uncle comes to mind, at least. There are things in this world I cannot protect you from, love."

She didn't know what to say to that, and she lowered her eyes.

"And there is also the question of how your father would react to receiving such a letter. What do you think he would say? Would he welcome it?" he asked then, and she pondered this for a while. He had raised a valid point to be honest. She had not considered the matter from this perspective, and after a while she knew Éomer was right to be concerned.

"Well... he'd think I had lost my mind. He remembers me the way I was before I left Gondor, and back then, marriage was the furthest thing from my mind. Elbereth, marriage _was_ the reason I escaped in the first place!" she admitted at length and shook her head. "The first letter I write to him, and it's to tell I want to get married to a man he has never even met! He would panic needlessly. No, it would do no good, because I know I can't explain this to him sufficiently in a letter. It needs to happen face to face, if he's ever to believe me."

"Aye. He might think you were pressured into this... that my House is trying to get some leverage on him and on Gondor by forcing you to marry me. And without your father's blessing, your uncle could easily decide it's not a valid marriage. You are a princess of a great house, Lothíriel, and your kin will not be eager to let you marry without contracts between our families. There are a hundred ways or more it could go wrong. I think it's safer if we explain everything in person", said her lover gently. They were sitting face to face now, their legs crossed so that their knees were touching.

"I suppose you are right", she said at last, resting her hands on his shins and feeling the strong muscles under the warm skin. At receiving his words there was some disappointed, even if she knew Éomer was wise to say these things. She frowned and gathered his hands in her own, "I just miss him so much. I wish I could talk to him."

"I know, love. We'll travel to see him as soon as possible", her lover reassured her, and then he pulled her close again.

There, in his arms, she found the solace she needed.

* * *

After returning from another patrol, there had been just one thing Éomer had wanted to do: get a quick wash and a bite to eat, and then lock himself away with Lothíriel for the rest of the night. However, duties of a Marshal did not await, and so it was only late that night that he was able to join her in his chambers. She had been sitting by the fire and staring into the flames, her needlework forgotten in her lap. At once he had thought she seemed pale and listless, but then she had looked up at him and smiled brightly, and as always that expression on her fair face worked like a spell of healing.

He had taken her to bed then, leaving behind the concerns that would plague his mind for most of his waking hours. In her arms he became again, grew stronger and more resolute; sometimes he wondered if she even understood how much she did just by being here, by letting him so close. And as he looked at her, her sweet lovely face and the glimmering grey eyes, he could not imagine a life without her anymore. Though they were not wedded she was a wife to him already, and for the first time in his life Éomer felt like he could understand a portion of why his mother had so withered and eventually died when she had lost Father.

Afterwards, when she was resting, he made a brief visit to the washing chamber and then stopped by the fireplace to add some peat to it. The nights were still cold and he didn't want her to feel chilly in his rooms – though usually, she remedied that by snuggling close to him, and Éomer was more than happy to keep her warm. Winters were milder in the south, Lothíriel had told him – she had never seen snow up close before coming to the Mark.

He rose up then, fixing his eyes on the woman lying in his bed. She had turned to rest on her side and leaning her head on her elbow she gazed into the newly roused fire; flames roared merrily and made play across her bare skin, on the delicious womanly curves of her body. Her long hair was spread around, tousled by the effect of his greedy hands. He could feel a tightening sort of sensation in his chest, both joy and pain, and he breathed deeply. Sometimes it was like sweet torment to look at her. She was the fairest thing he knew and he loved her more than any word could describe, and yet he was well aware Prince Imrahil could end this with a single word. And the idea of losing her scared him more than anything.

As he approached the bed, Éomer took again note of her expression: it was the same melancholy kind he had seen before. While generally Lothíriel put up with her exile remarkably well, he had noticed at times her spirits would be suppressed by such a state of mind – though this was the first such occasion since Yule.

"Is something wrong, love?" he asked her as he sat down beside her on the bed.

"I was just thinking of home. I wonder what Father would say if he knew about this", his princess answered in a soft, downcast voice.

He couldn't say he was particularly surprised by her words. It was inevitable, especially for her but also to him. The coldest, the most analytical part of him was aware it had been reckless to make their pretension real. However, how could he regret anything when he looked at this woman he loved? He could be many things but a cold, heartless man he was not, and in times like this any moment of warmth and love was a gift. With her he had received a fair deal of them. But even then, he had not given much thought to if they would have to tell Prince Imrahil they were lovers. In fact, he didn't think it would matter once her father heard she had been without proper escorts all this time.

"Lothíriel... I wish I knew what to tell you", he said gently, reaching to stroke his fingers across her shoulder, "but at the very least I can say this: you needn't be afraid of the future. I will be there with you to face him when the time comes. No matter what happens I will marry you, just as I promised. And to tell you the truth, I already consider you my wife."

His lover smiled faintly at that and she sat up, reaching her arms to wrap them around him. She laid her head against his shoulder and let out a small sigh. He returned the embrace and ran his hand back and forth over her back, hoping to soothe her troubled mind.

"I know I can trust you", she murmured quietly at length, her breath tickling his neck. "Sometimes I wonder about myself... it seems I've changed so much since I came here. When we first met, I would never have let this happen... or think I could be happy in this land. Now I know I wouldn't be able to live in Dol Amroth anymore, even if I could go back."

"At least your uncle shouldn't be thinking of marrying you off to some pirate after this", he said, though he didn't feel like that was a sufficient reassurance. How could he possibly think to understand what this was like to her? He could scarcely imagine leaving the Mark, let alone picture living among strangers for so long. A sharp sensation of failure and inadequateness came to him – he had been the one to persuade her to their pretension and as if that weren't enough, he had let it become the very reality! And now, when she needed him, he didn't even know what words would comfort her!

"Mm. Yes", Lothíriel agreed. "I just... I wish it didn't have to hurt like this. And I wish it didn't bother me to know I'm a bad woman in my people's standards. I can only hope it won't bring too much shame or pain to Father."

"Lothíriel, it wasn't your fault what happened. Your uncle alone is guilty, and if your father presumes to blame you for this, then he is a hypocrite and a fool. You did the best you could in impossible circumstances... I don't think even any of noble Eorling ladies could have endured such for as long as you have. Many if not most would have broken already, revealed themselves to the people around them, or begged to go home. Yet here you are, unbent and still hidden. And there is no evil in wanting to live", he reminded her, lifting her chin so that he could look into her eyes. She met his gaze silently, her eyes glimmering rather with sadness than with that inner light he had grown to love. Béma, if he only could make all this better!

Silently she moved to sit astride in his lap, moving her arms to rest around his neck. The kiss she gave him was slow and long, and at its end she remained only a breath's width from him.

"You are the only thing I have left now", she stated matter-of-factly, almost entirely without any colour. Perhaps it was that dispassionate tone that made the impact of her words so tremendous. Yet she did not sound like she was making him responsible for anything.

"Don't despair, love. We don't know what's ahead. But no matter what it is, we will face it together", he told her gently, and a small smile touched her features.

"I know", she simply said, her voice very soft.

"I love you, Star-eyes", he reassured her and the motion of his hand across the naked skin of her back became more of a caress. The pet name made her smile slightly, and then she kissed him once more. Éomer understood: she was asking to be comforted. And he was glad to do just that.

So he pulled her tight to him, deepening the kiss and roaming his hands over her smooth, warm skin. Slowly, slowly, he sought the places he knew to be sensitive to touch, persuading her to let go of all that grieved her mind – and to forget, if only for a short while. For hadn't she persuaded him just the same way when his concerns grew heavy to bear, and she willingly offered her love and her warm embrace? Putting aside his own desires he focused on her need, until at last her little whimpers had become moans and everything else was just _gone._ In the end she made a sound like a song, which made him smile fondly. He would never grow tired of this.

When she had recovered, she looked at him with warm and soft eyes, gave him a tired little kiss, and curled up against him. She fell asleep in less than minutes.

But Éomer did not feel tired. He lay quietly, watching his lover as she slept. Now she seemed calm and content and his heart ached for all that she had to endure. For the first time since they had started their affair, he wondered if it had been a mistake after all. Not that he regretted a single moment spent in her arms, and he could still remember how it had bordered on physical pain to keep pulling away from her. However, now as he thought of the future and the consequences of their actions, he could not help this doubt. What if her fears were warranted indeed and her father would cast her out? What if her future, her chances of a normal life, were now utterly destroyed?

And yet he could not see how they could have averted any of this, even if they had not become lovers for real. The loss of her knights had left her exposed to peril, and for the sake of his father and the friendship between their countries, Éomer had had no choice but to protect her. This had been the only way he could both ensure her safety and keep people from wondering about her. At the time, he had not guessed how bad things would get in Rohan, nor had he thought she would become more dear to him than anything in the world. He hadn't considered for a moment Prince Imrahil would not summon her back before real damage was done. And so, blindly and carelessly he had spun the very circumstances of her doubt and pain.

With a sigh he lifted his free hand to rub his face, helpless against the unknown days that lay ahead. He wondered: why did the innocent always have to suffer the most? She had never done any harm to anyone, and yet she had been sent away from her home, forced to live through death and horror and uncertainty... she had been humiliated even by the one who claimed to love her. In his moment of weakness, he had taken the last thing she had left, thinking it did not matter anymore. Béma, if only he could have taken her burdens for himself to bear!

And yet... when he looked at his princess once more, he did not feel anything but gratefulness and a kind of deep, profound contentment at having her by his side. Yes, all of this had gone the absolutely wrong way, but perhaps it _was_ the only way he could have ever found her. And whether this had been a mistake or not, there was still much that he could do. Even if her family disowned her and she was made an exile in the fullest sense of the word, he could keep his promises and marry her – before the eyes of his own men, if need be, for he would not ask for anyone's permission to do what was right by her. Indeed, he would provide her with a home and livelihood, and make sure she could live without shame. This much he owed to her, though it was not a bitter debt.

Satisfied with this idea, Éomer decided it was too late to be mulling over these matters, and he was less troubled than before. As he turned on his side and pulled his princess against his chest, he felt a measure of peace. Before he fell asleep, the last thing he thought of was he would tell his beloved again not to worry about future – she would have one as long as she wanted to stay here with him.

* * *

 _Mid February 3019, Edoras_

"He just loves to mock me, doesn't he?" Éomer growled under his breath to Théodred after a particularly unpleasant council meeting in Meduseld. The two men had just emerged outside; usually, both felt they could speak more freely without the shadows of the Hall around them. Wormtongue had been particularly venomous that day, leaving the Prince and the Marshal more than little aggravated.

"Of course he does. I think he has hated you from the moment he first laid eyes on you, cousin", Théodred said, his voice filled with dark humour.

"It certainly feels personal enough", Éomer muttered and shook his head, kicking a small loose stone hard enough to send it rolling down the courtyard. He would have to find out if any of the young riders in training were up for a session of sparring. He considered it the most effective way of letting out some steam that had been building up during the council meeting.

"Well, you _are_ the golden son of the Mark – you're everything he could never hope to be. Loved and relied on by the King, a Marshal at the age of six and twenty, admired by both men and women alike... some of us were born to be princes, but you, my cousin, _made_ yourself. And you never seem to realise just how hard that is", said the Crown Prince. The younger man glanced at him and expected to see a jesting look, but instead, Théodred's expression was dead serious.

Éomer did not know what to say to that. He did not feel complimented either – rather, his mood grew even more uneasy than it had been before.

"Are you listening to him now, cousin? Do you think I'm a power-hungry villain who is driving this land into chaos in my craving for war?" he asked eventually. That seemed to be Wormtongue's favourite counter argument to the points he made, calling him a raving madman with an unsavoury lust for blood. _No better than his father... we all remember how well that turned out for the ill-fated devil..._

The mere thought nearly had his anger rising anew.

"Father may be too sick to see between reason and lies, but I know what's what. You don't have to prove anything to me, cousin", Théodred said steadily, his calm cooling off Éomer's temper as well. His expression became a frown, though in his eyes lurked even darker things. "We both know that war is coming... you were there and heard my reports – there is something happening in Isengard and it won't be long that we know exactly what. Something's coming, Éomer. Those of us who will get to see this through are either lucky or very, very unhappy."

At the words of his cousin, the Marshal's heart grew grim and cold with foreboding. It was true, what Théodred was saying – he could feel it too. There was something dark and terrible in the air, and it was only a matter of time now that this tension erupted into a storm. And like Théodred believed, that storm would change things forever.

What could he do, except reach his hand to set it on the shoulder of his cousin, hold it tight and reassure the older man the best he could? Théodred returned the gesture quietly.

"We will weather it, Théodred. Just as we always have", he said as firm as one could hope to be. He spoke again in a lower voice, "I will make ready my riders and strengthen my town. If the need arises, you only need to send word to me. The East-Mark will be ready to ride against Isengard as soon as you deem the hour has come."

"Let us hope for the best", Théodred said quietly. He shook his head and then looked at his cousin again, "But we should be prepared indeed. We can't ignore the threat, no matter what Gríma Wormtongue says."

There was a moment of silent agreement between the two men. There they stood in the courtyard of Meduseld and chilly wind came, blowing through their hair – one dark as night and the other golden. And yet, though their minds and moods were different in many ways, they both shared concern for the future of their people and love for the land that had raised them.

"Do not hesitate send for me if the situation grows worse. No matter what Wormtongue says, my loyalty will not falter", Éomer said to Théodred solemnly.

A slight smile touched the face of the Crown Prince.

"I know that, cousin. Gríma can talk his way to Valinor and back, but I will never take his word over yours, or trust any man as I trust you", Théodred said warmly.

Somehow, the Third Marshal of the Mark was able to smile as well.

"Be well, cousin."

* * *

The sound of pacing feet woke her up on a late February night.

Tired from the day's work and comforted by the warmth of his embrace, Lothíriel had quickly passed out next to her Marshal. These days, there was something almost desperate about the way he touched her, as if he thought each night could be their last. But she did not wonder: often he returned from his many tasks with a haunted look in his eyes, and she would feel the profound, instinctual need to console him. And each night he spent at home, they would fall asleep in each other's arms.

Now, however, when she lifted her head she saw he was not there by her side. The hour was dark and she guessed it could not be very late yet.

Blinking sleep from her eyes, she sat up and glanced around. The chamber was dark except for few dying flames in the fireplace. From the next room, light softly streamed, but occasionally a shadow fell across it when Éomer leaned down to examine something on the table. What was he doing awake?

Clumsily, still half asleep, Lothíriel climbed up on her feet. She snatched her green shawl – another gift from the certain generous Rohir – from the chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then she padded to the other room, yawning as she went.

Éomer glanced at her briefly as she came and a small smile touched his face. But it could not chase away the shadows lurking in his eyes.

"Why are you still up?" she asked him as she came to stand by his side, clutching the shawl tight around herself. She shivered against the change of temperature, having left the warm security of the bed, and so she moved to wrap her arms about his waist. The man was an excellent source of heat even on the coldest nights.

"I can't sleep. There's this feeling... I can't explain it. I feel like I've missed something important, and terrible things are going to happen because of it", he said, again staring at the map spread before him. The look on his face was one she knew all too well.

He sighed then, "A scout arrived only an hour ago from Eastemnet. A large band of orcs have entered the realm from Emyn Muil... I've sent a messenger to Edoras to ask for Elfhelm and a few of his men. We need to ride as soon as we can."

Now Lothíriel held on tighter to her lover, dreading the moment that would take him from her. Of course he could not be at peace if he knew such evil things were marauding the lands. It frustrated her greatly, knowing she could not do anything to make it better, not beyond being there for him if he needed her.

"Please, do not kill yourself for the sake of this land", she murmured as she laid her head against his shoulder. A cold feeling took her heart even as his arm wrapped around her and held her tight to him.

"That is what I very well may have to do", he said in a grim, quiet voice.

Lothíriel trembled. What sense would any of this make then, if she should travel all the way to Rohan, find this man and fall in love with him, only to lose him to war? What reason should there be to any of this?

"Don't leave me", she mumbled in a moment of weakness. She didn't want to plead or beg, as he had enough to worry about as it was, and yet losing him seemed a peril far worse than becoming a pirate's wife or surrendering the life she had known before coming to Rohan.

Éomer shifted so that he could wrap his arms around her. His strong, warm form felt as steadfast as the very rock. And she knew he was about as reliable.

"I would never do that", he murmured into her hair.

They remained so for a while – long enough for her insecurities to go away. Yet she knew what was the life of a warrior, and his profession as Marshal was more important than him staying behind to coddle her. She had to be strong for him. And once she sent him on his way once more, she needed to do it with a smile.

When they got to bed, she snuggled close to him and wrapped arms about his form, and he did the same. Lately, she was finding it difficult to sleep without him by her side, and she wondered if he ever felt likewise... if her presence had become just as dear to him. For where would they be in this darkness, if they did not have one another?

She woke up to him writhing next to her; he was breathing erratically and moaning as though he was in severe pain. Snapping fully awake, she sat up and reached for his shoulders, shaking him.

"Wake up, dear, it's just a nightmare", she spoke forcibly. His eyes flew open but he didn't look like he saw her – instead, his expression was like that of a man who is staring at a horrifying scene.

So she did the only thing she could think of: Lothíriel bent down her head and kissed him. One hand she slipped under the collar of his shirt, and she ran her fingers over the warm skin under his neck, then below his collarbone...

Her horselord was frozen for the briefest second. Then he moved so fast she could only gasp against his lips. His hands gripped tight her shoulders, she was more or less thrown on her back, and then she was pinned to the mattress by a large, heavy body of her beloved. There was a knee diving between her thighs, which opened more by an instinct than a choice, and her own hands were already untucking his shirt and undoing the laces of his trousers. It was clumsy and anxious, but the need was tangible, and she hissed loudly when he entered her. Oh, the feel of his body! This moment at least they were alive, they were together, and that was a truth none might change. She thought he would be done with few hard strokes, but his hands did not leave her cold and wanting, and at the end they were both driven to that sweet moment of relief.

When they were recovered enough, she asked him, "What did you dream about? It seemed rather bad."

"I... I'm not sure. There was a battle..." he muttered, resting his face against her head and breathing heavily as though air would not properly sustain him. She could feel a shiver passing through him, and then he spoke again in a more quiet voice, "I have this feeling something horrible has happened."

"You usually feel like that these days", she told him gently. "Don't think I haven't noticed. It's like you are carrying the world on your back."

"It surely seems like that", Éomer muttered and kissed her, slow and gentle. At the end of it he remained close still, and the hold of his arms about her became slightly tighter as he spoke, "But you make it easier to bear."

"I'm glad if I can be of help", she said softly and gently rubbed her hand across his back, "Let's go back to sleep. It's still hours before the dawn."

He made a low sound in his throat, more or less in agreement. She fitted her face against his neck and snuggled close until she found a comfortable position and soon she was drifting back to dreams.

* * *

Though last night they had been able to find some peace and comfort with each other, most if not all of that was gone when the morning came. About as soon as he was out of his chambers, Éomer gave orders for his éored to prepare – they would ride out when he had received an answer from Edoras.

"But what if your uncle won't send any men?" Lothíriel asked him worriedly, fidgeting her hands. How he wanted to reassure her everything was going to be all right! And yet he could not tell her something he did not know to be true.

"Then I will have to manage with my own riders", he told her, trying to keep the grim tone from his voice but not quite succeeding. She noticed it too, judging by her expression.

"Please, be careful. Don't rush into a fate like your father's", she pleaded softly, making him look at her sharply. Béma, the way those bright eyes bore into his! He wanted badly to tell her everything was going to be all right, ease her mind and let her remain hopeful. If only he could comfort her the way she had comforted him last night, offering him peace in the circle of her arms! But in cold hard daylight he knew no such craft, and his words were as simple as they were plain.

"Don't worry about me", he simply told her, kissed her quickly, and then went about his way to prepare.

The atmosphere of Aldburg was tense and anxious. The news about the orcs had already spread, and everyone were wondering what it meant. What errand had brought them from Emyn Muil? Yet their destination was all too clear. For months now Éomer had been seeing or hearing reports about orcs bearing the sign of the white hand in their helms and hauberks, and for as long he had been trying to talk his uncle into declaring war. They had to strike before it was too late, he had said – they needed to make their move before Saruman was ready to challenge the Riddermark. Doubt had lived in his heart ever since he had first heard about the wizard's new schemes, but now it was turning into an outright _fear_ for his people. Did these news mean their enemy was ready? That he had become too powerful to defeat?

The day went by in a slow, almost agonising fashion. Instinct told Éomer he should already be on his way to hunt the orcs – that he should not waste time by waiting for orders from Edoras. There was also a sense of foreboding on his mind, telling him it was crucial he cut the way of the orc band before they got to Isengard. But he needed what help he could get if the reports about the number of enemies were true. Lothíriel's words rang too clear in his memory.

Usually by nightfall, if he was home, Éomer would let go of his duties and concerns for the precious few hours in the company of his princess. But tonight there was no such leisure; as evening fell, he stood for a long while staring across the plains and to the west, hoping to see the figure of an approaching rider. He would wait all night, if need be – his men were standing by, ready to depart at short notice.

When the first stars were ignited in the sky and the wind was chasing gathering clouds across the face of the Moon, he could hear soft steps from behind, and then there was a figure wrapped in a shawl next to him. Though Lothíriel was always lovely in his eyes, at night-time she was just... he couldn't describe it. The shadows of her hair, the moonlight glistening on her skin, and the brightness of her eyes that seemed to hold the shimmer of stars in them... she had told him a story about her ancestress, who according to tales had been a stray Elven maiden. In moments like these, it was surely easy to believe that some immortal blood flowed in this princess' veins.

Unaware of how breath was caught in his throat at the mere sight of her, she spoke softly, "It's so quiet."

"Aye. It's like calm before the storm", he muttered, his mind returning from the peaceful place where her arrival had briefly taken him. The wind was growing stronger and there was definitely some rain in the air. He didn't look forward to riding in such conditions, but at least rain would provide cover for them.

She stood so close, he could feel her shiver. He wrapped his arm about her shoulders and pulled her closer still, wishing he might have taken her fears to himself. If war truly were at hand... would that he could send her back to Dol Amroth! Surely she would have been safer there? Unless this tempest, the one he could almost smell in the air, was only a part of something much bigger... perhaps there were no safe places left in the world of Men. He buried his face against her hair and breathed in her smell, painfully aware of how much he loved her, and how hard it would be to leave her again. He was not sure when it had happened but she lived now in the essence of his heart and soul – she was as vital as water and air. How strange it was that only a year before now he had not even been aware that she existed! Yet now she was the most important person in his life... and she could decide his happiness with a single word.

A sudden blinking of light, down below at the gates of the town, caught his attention and Éomer tensed. Finally, a rider!

"What is it?" Lothíriel asked, having sensed the shift in his mood.

"See that light down by the gates? The one that keeps flickering? It means a messenger has arrived", he explained. It was something his father had come up with, so that the guards of the Hall would know a rider had come even after dark. Éomund had been an impatient man.

"Get back inside, love", Éomer told his princess, but she glanced at him reluctantly.

"I want to hear the news as well", she said to him.

"Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere without talking to you first", he reassured her and kissed her. Lothíriel did not look pleased, but she did as he asked her and returned to the Hall, while Éomer remained behind to wait for whatever tidings he would soon receive.

* * *

The night was getting late.

Usually at this time, Lothíriel would already be in bed, either in Éomer's chambers or with her servant friends. But tonight, she doubted she could have any sleep – not at least before she heard the news from Edoras and knew what her Marshal was going to do. All she wanted was to go to bed with him and feel alive in his arms, but she knew he was likely to ride out as soon as possible.

So she paced back and forth in his rooms, glancing between the door and the armour stand, where his gear was ready to be donned on. Maps were scattered on the table and at the corner his saddlebags awaited. She knew how efficient the man could be, if the tidings were bad. He could be on his way in less than fifteen minutes.

Lothíriel trembled under her shawl. She had seen him go many times now, but this time... this time it was different. Indeed, there was storm in the air, she could feel it too. Just like there had been that night when...

Her memory took her back to a night that seemed a lifetime ago now. She remembered tossing and turning in her bed, praying for dawn to come. Then lightning had struck and Éomer had been there, standing still and staring at her. Deep down she had known that things were changing, though Uncle Denethor's fateful announcement hadn't come until days later. Her life had altered indeed and long since she had realised that there was no going back to what had been.

She rubbed her face and tried to shake off the uneasy feeling. She was just being dramatic here, she shouldn't let her imagination run away with her...

The sound of Éomer's voice, barking orders as he approached, snapped her back to full focus. There was something about his tone – something terrible and dark. She had never heard him speaking like that, and immediately the stone on her heart became many times heavier. Lothíriel didn't need to hear his words clearly in order to know something was very, very wrong. Then, as she stood wondering what had happened, he burst inside.

His expression confirmed what she had already heard in his voice. Mouth pressed into a thin line, his shoulders tense and high, his eyes blazing with cold fire...

"What is it? What has happened?" Lothíriel asked as she hurried to his side. Her hand only brushed against his arm, for he was already heading for his armour stand.

"Théodred is dead", he growled in a low, rough voice.

The princess froze where she stood, staring at the Marshal. The cool-eyed Prince, so much more temperate than his passionate cousin, and still just as sharp and sincere... she remembered him trying to get her to spill out the truth, and then months later, telling her to be good to Éomer... how could such a man be dead?

"What?!" she asked, feeling like someone had hit her in stomach. It was unreal, that the Crown Prince should be... should be... she couldn't believe it. Surely there had to be some kind of a mistake? Eventually, she managed to ask in a strangled voice, "What happened to him?"

"There was a battle at the Fords of Isen. Uruk-hai came from Isengard, trying to get over the river", Éomer answered, though he didn't look at her – he was too busy getting ready for road. "Béma knows how far they would have got hadn't Théodred been there... the war has truly begun now, and our prince is dead."

Towards the end of the sentence, something wild, something wounded appeared in his voice. Then it died... or it didn't really die. Rather, it became the growl of an injured beast. He made a sound that might have been a curse, and in helpless rage he threw one pauldron against the wall. The air practically bristled around him. She startled at the sight – she had never seen him so... so _unhinged._

Was this how Éomund had been when he had made his fateful decision to ride after orcs?

Lothíriel swallowed her own anxiety and fear. Carefully she went to her horselord and lay a hand against his arm, feeling the tension radiating from him. Éomer stood quiet now, but his breathing was rough and shallow, and his hands had become fists. She could not see his face, for he had bowed his head and hair hid his features.

"I'm so sorry about your cousin", she spoke softly, knowing there was no way she could comfort him now. And that knowledge tore at her insides like a thousand knives.

"I should have been there to help him. He trusted me to come... he relied on me even as he lay taking his last", he mumbled under his breath, and each of his words were laced with unimaginable pain and grief.

"You would have helped him if you had known", Lothíriel reminded him. No summons had come to Aldburg, meaning the Crown Prince had not expected his cousin to joim him – he couldn't have guessed Théodred's need. And yet she remembered how he had stayed up the other night, feeling like something was horribly wrong...

"Théodred is dead", he said again, staring hard at the coolly gleaming metal of his helmet. "The King's son is dead and this forsaken land... Béma, the Mark is falling apart."

"All is not yet lost. The Mark still has the Third Marshal", she reminded him, gentle but firm.

Somehow, that seemed to hearten him. Quietly he picked up the pauldron from the floor and continued with donning on his gear, his face set once more, grim but resolute.

"What about Théoden King? What does he command?" Lothíriel asked him then, lifting up his saddlebag on the table where he could grab it once he headed outside.

The expression on her beloved's face became, if possible, even darker.

"My orders are to stay put. I am to do nothing!" he growled under his breath. "But considering that order did not come from the King, I'm going to ignore it and ride after that band this very night. I do not yet know why, but Wormtongue does not want me anywhere near those orcs. And that is exactly the reason I'm going. Something tells me I _have_ to stop them."

Unsure of what to say, Lothíriel bit her lip. Elbereth, how she wanted to be the craven here and beg him not to go! But she knew very well she could not ask him to stay. And if his warrior's instinct told him this was necessary, then she had to hold her tongue; he could not let orcs roam the land, even if it meant going against the King's orders.

"But do you have enough men?" she asked him worriedly at last.

"I will make do", he muttered and strapped on his vambrace. He looked at her then, "Don't worry, love. I've made it through tighter spots with fewer men."

She was able to give him a smile, though her mind was not exactly eased. However, what more could she say? Éomer had to go. Something needed to be done... only, she had a feeling it might just start a chain of events grave enough to change a great deal of things.

No wonder it felt like there was storm in the air.

When they got outside some five minutes later, it had started to rain, and the torches in the courtyard sizzled and smoked. The Riders of the Marshal's éored were already standing by, waiting for their lord. Did they already know the ill tidings from Edoras? What did they think now that their Prince was dead? Though the hour was late, the Riders were not the only ones around; Lothíriel could see the faces of guards staying behind as well as servants. Athilda stood under the cover of the entrance, and Brithwen was leaning her back against the wall of the stables, though the princess didn't know what the Shieldmaiden was doing here at this time. Derehild too was there, saying her goodbyes to Wulfgar her beloved.

Éothain stood nearby, his helmet under his arm and the reins of his horse in his hand. His face was grim as he waited for Éomer, and he answered the curt nod from the Marshal. It looked like she was not the only one who felt the gravity of this moment and what it might start.

Firefoot was tossing his head restlessly and pawing at the ground with one of his great hooves, already eager for the road, but Éomer did not head to the stallion right away. Instead he turned to look at the princess who had been trailing him silently, her heart growing heavier to bear with each step that she took.

He did not speak. He merely reached for the back of her head with his hand, and then his lips crashed against hers, hard and hungry and demanding. He had never kissed her in such a way and least of all in public... but this moment, she didn't care about the audience. Lothíriel threw her arms about his neck and pressed tight against him, answering the kiss just as violently. Rainwater was seeping into her clothes and in her hair, but she did not care – all she knew right now was _him._

And then she knew what it was. This kiss was... it was as though he did not think he would see her again. As if he was telling her goodbye. So she held him even tighter to herself, like she could just force him to stay alive and return by the effort of will.

Her beloved horselord did not pull back when the kiss ended. He stayed close, his forehead against hers, his ragged breath mingling with hers, and his hands tight in her hair. Maybe he simply couldn't let her go – she would have understood that. For right then Lothíriel did not know where she should find the strength to let him leave, either. So she just breathed in, hoarding as much of his musky smell as she could, and living forever in the feeling of being close to him. Quietly she memorised the texture of his hair, the roughness of his beard, the softness of his mouth, so that these things would exist in her heart as long as she lived. Even if the crooked fate took him from her for ever, in this point of time a truth more lasting than stars had been forged, and she felt she would never love him any more or any less than she did at this moment of parting.

"I love you", Éomer said quietly, whispering the words against her lips. Sweet Elbereth, how was it even possible to feel so much happiness and so much grief at the same time? So it was – and so the fates had willed it from that very night she had first seen him at her door...

"Just come back to me", Lothíriel mumbled, for because of some reason, she could not bring herself to answer his words the way she wanted to. But perhaps she didn't because she needed him to return, and the prospect of hearing her say those words would convince him to stay alive...

But then Éothain was calling the name of her beloved, and his arms dropped from around her, albeit reluctantly. Biting back her whimper, she let go of him – he needed to be on his way already, and she had held him back enough as it was.

As the rain began pouring down harder, she watched her Marshal mount his horse and grab his spear from the offered hand of his esquire. His strong voice sounded over the courtyard, effectively electrifying each and every Rider present. Then Firefoot shot forward and the company followed, all ready for the long road ahead. How many of these men were leaving for the last time, never to return this place?

Soaked to the bone by rain, Lothíriel watched the man on the front ride further away from her. Even now, he held himself proud and tall, leading his riders dauntlessly. As the dull shadows of the night claimed him and he disappeared from her sight, she felt the cold sensation of foreboding settle on her shoulders. Was this the last she saw Éomer – was he riding to his fate, and to the ending of his line? Would she ever again receive him in her arms in this life?

 _Elbereth, bring him back to me._

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** *heavy breathing* So! The lovey-dovey times are now finished, and we're back in business. Éomer has gone to hunt the orcs who, unbeknownst to him, are carrying two hobbits with them. The War of the Ring is at hand.

The parting is quite painful for our lovers, but Lothíriel knows she can't hold him back, even though she's afraid she won't see him again. We'll see what will happen to them in the storms of the war! As for Lothíriel's sad mood and her wondering what her father would think of their affair, I wouldn't say it's because she's regretting anything. It's more that she just misses him so much, and her agreement with Éomer that they can't write to Imrahil in this situation isn't helping either. Ultimately, I don't think they could write to Imrahil, because there just isn't guarantee of the message of ever reaching him. And her father would surely freak out if he just got this letter and had no chance to find out if it's genuine, or if Lothíriel has been pressured into saying something like that.

As always, I appreciate all the reviews, follows and favourites! Let me know what you think, if you got time!

* * *

 **Tibblets -** That will depend entirely on whether she is in Edoras at the same time as them!

 **Hobbitpony1 -** Glad to hear that! :)

 **Anon -** I'm happy to know you liked it so much! I'm rather pleased with it as well. This was indeed where their relationship was naturally progressing, and the more I think of it, the less likely it seems to me they could have refrained from becoming lovers.

 **malfoy lea -** Yes, the mental image is rather precious! :D It's always great to write them so intimately together.

 **mazzmataz** \- Thank you! :)

 **sailor68 -** Thanks! Things aren't looking so good, what with Théodred's death and the war looming ahead...

 **meldisil -** Unfortunately, there is a war just around the corner! But you are right. They deserved a breather and some happy moments together.

 **Rinarwen -** I'm glad you liked it! Yes, they did the thing and it was great! :D It's the direction this story was going all along, even when I didn't think it would!

 **EStrunk -** That is exactly what she said to him! I think in a time like this they are somewhat less concerned about how efficient moon tea is - both of them are just rather desperate to be together and feel alive. We will see where this goes!

Thank you for all your comments! I hope you are enjoying the story. :)


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

The news about the death of Théodred Prince were common knowledge in Aldburg by next midday. Not once after her arrival in the town had Lothíriel seen such quiet and gloom there, not even at the times Éomer and his éored had been riding patrols and hunting orcs. Even Saethryd's spirits were low and the usually cheerful girl went quietly in her chores, and on Derehild's face fear lived constantly. No songs were to be heard in the Hall and conversations were carried in hushed tones. No one seemed to know what would happen now and what should be done.

But with the Marshal away they could only wait and see. While people knew Lord Éomer had ridden out against the King's orders, very few if any deemed he had done wrong. The common understanding he was merely doing what Théoden King would have commanded anyway, had he been in his right mind. If there was grief, so was there tiniest glimmer of hope as well: Théodred had not been the last of the House of Eorl. The Third Marshal, the son of Théodwyn Princess and sister-son to the King, still lived and fought.

As frustrating as it was, Lothíriel could do nothing but carry on with the household chores and wait. Would that she had been one of those fierce shieldmaidens of song, and that she might have ridden with her beloved to face the peril by his side! Instead, she was stuck here, waiting and dreading for what was to come. At times, it was like she could still feel their last kiss burning her lips. But her arms were empty and her bed was cold without him.

The day after Éomer had left went by as though in some sort of a haze. In the light of day, last night seemed almost unreal; she half expected to see her Marshal appear from behind some corner, smiling when he saw her and reaching his arms towards her. And then she would look around herself, wondering if these were the last days of the Mark – if the war was truly going to start very soon, like Éomer believed. All these people, their songs and stories, their fair maidens and brave young riders, their griefs and joys, and the green plains that framed it all... somehow, it _had_ to exist. And with that thought, she felt like she understood a bit of how Éomer felt about his home and his people.

With the news of Théodred Prince's death and Éomer riding against the King's orders, the atmosphere was an expecting one. Not even the children of the town did run about laughing in their games, and those appointed to defend Aldburg spoke quietly and gravely among themselves. The day after Éomer's departure, as she was on her way back from the markets, Lothíriel saw Brithwen talking with her head close to Athilda's, and she saw the Shieldmaiden carried a sword; she wondered if the auburn-haired woman had orders to stay here, or if Brithwen would ride with others upon mustering of éoreds. She knew her Marshal had made the town ready should war come, and all who had Rider's training would be summoned to serve under his command. As she went about in her chores, she often saw the vigilance and readiness on the faces of the people of Aldburg. They were bracing for whatever was ahead, and she knew they would defend their home and land to the last. Yet many things would have to go ill before the enemy would come knocking at the gates of Aldburg.

One such thing, perhaps even worst that could now happen, was the King punishing his only remaining Marshal for disobedience. For Théoden's orders to Éomer had been not to pursue the orcs sighted by his scout, and yet the King's nephew had disregarded that command. For now, his folk could only guess what would be the consequences of this action – even if the general understanding was Éomer was doing the right thing. But Lothíriel thought of her father and wondered what would he have said about all this, and wished that there could have been some way to send news to him. For now, more than ever, she thought Gondor should know of how bad things were getting in Rohan... and maybe, though it terrified her to think so, prepare for the worst.

And she also thought of Éomer and whether her lover was now racing towards the greatest peril he had yet known. How would his uncle receive the news he had disobeyed? And how would Gríma Wormtongue, Éomer's sworn enemy, use it to his advantage? A horrific thought occurred to her: she might not see her Marshal again. That desperate kiss exchanged in pouring rain could be the last they would have in the world of the living. With this thought, heaviness grew on her heart. If this was to be the end of their road together, then she would grieve his loss bitterly, and life without him would be a dull and grey thing.

These thoughts were close to her mind on the second day of his absence as she was doing a quick cleaning in his rooms. As she moved about in this place where she had felt so much happiness, it seemed almost like every corner held some shade of his. Here and there were his personal belongings, some of which she grabbed anxiously, as though the inanimate object might still carry the warmth of his touch. When she moved by the bed, Lothíriel could not help but sit down on his side of it for a minute, unable to resist the place he had lain. Slowly she ran her fingers over his pillow, feeling the outline his head had left there, and quietly she remembered the sight of him sleeping by her side, and how safe and loved it made her feel. The memory came to her with an aching sensation in her chest, and she had to close her eyes to fight against what almost felt like the dull throbbing pain of a wound. Elbereth, how she missed him!

Gritting her teeth, Lothíriel wiped her hand across her eyes, as though to get rid of tears that were not there. Moping around was not going to help anything, or make the situation turn better or worse.

So she picked up her things and headed for the main door of her lover's chambers, wondering when they might be together in this place once more – and _if_ such a sweet thing would ever happen again.

Lothíriel's thoughts came to an abrupt stop when she came out and saw Athilda standing in the corridor, her arms crossed on her chest. The woman stared at her with those sharp eyes which had never held any particular warmth whenever the chatelaine saw her. The princess halted; she did not recall how long it had even been since the last time Athilda had actually shown to acknowledge her presence.

"What is it, girl? Were you hiding in the Marshal's rooms?" Athilda said suddenly, making her blink. Lothíriel bit her lip in order to prevent herself from blurting something impertinent. Though she had long since decided nothing she could do or say would change the stubborn woman's mind, there was no sense in deliberately stirring up more discord between them.

"I was just cleaning up", she answered calmly and made a move to walk past the chatelaine. However, Athilda prevented her passing by stepping to stand before her.

"I hope you did it well, girl, for it's the last you see of that room", the older woman said, her voice as cold as winter.

"I beg your pardon, mistress, but that is hardly your decision to make", Lothíriel said steadily. Once more she tried to walk past the tall woman, but it availed her little. Frowning slightly, she spoke again, "Let me pass. I have work to do."

The smile on Athilda's face was not kind. In fact, Lothíriel thought the woman could not have looked more hateful even if she had been sneering, and once a dreadful feeling descended on the princess. She glanced the other way, and she called in a loud voice: "Brithwen!"

In surprise Lothíriel spun around, only to see the Shieldmaiden appearing from behind the corner. The auburn-haired woman wore a fierce look of determination and her eyes were dark with some terrible emotion. Now hair at the back of Lothíriel's neck stood up and she knew something was indeed wrong.

"Can I help you two somehow?" she asked anyway, refusing to show her uncertainty to them.

But neither answered. The two women exchanged a silent look between themselves, and then, before Lothíriel had time to even wonder about what was happening, Brithwen's iron-hard fingers gripped her around her arm.

"Let's get going", said the Shieldmaiden in a cold, steely voice as she yanked Lothíriel after herself.

"Í am not going anywhere!" she snapped, trying to free her arm from the other woman's grip, but Brithwen was stronger than her. She was already considering throwing herself on the floor and turning absolutely limp, though such a feat would surely seem very childish, but then Brithwen shifted her grip to wring her arm painfully behind her back, and she felt something sharp pressing against her back. Lothíriel knew it was the blade of some small dagger or a knife.

"Move, Dunlending scum", Brithwen hissed, and the pressure of the knife forced Lothíriel to walk. The Shieldmaiden was twisting her arm to the point of torment, but the dark-haired woman refused to cry out. She gritted her teeth against pain and let herself be pushed forward. Even then, panic was rising in her mind: what was happening? Where was Brithwen taking her?

They passed through the Hall quickly, for Brithwen was pushing her fast, and Lothíriel had no choice but to walk the pace the woman holding her had chosen. On their way, she saw many surprised and shocked faces, but none objected to what they saw – perhaps because they did not understand any better what was happening.

Brithwen then pushed her outside, and briefly the light of late afternoon blinded her. She stumbled forward, her mind a whirlwind of fear and desperate wish that Éomer might return any moment now to put an end to this scene. As her eyes adjusted again she saw there was indeed a company of riders in the middle of the courtyard, some fifteen strong. But they were not Éomer's Riders.

"So this is the Dunlending spy?" spoke one man who looked like he was probably their leader.

"Aye, she's the one I spoke of in the message", Brithwen answered loudly, releasing Lothíriel and giving her a hard push so suddenly that the princess went stumbling to the ground. She nearly fell face first in a pile of fresh horse manure, which would just have been the perfect addition to this scene, but she was able to steady herself in time.

"I am no spy!" she loudly stated, lifting her eyes to regard the company of unfamiliar Riders.

"Silence, lass. The King will decide what you are", came the curt, stern answer from the man who had first spoken. He glanced at a couple of his men, "Tie her hands and put her on a horse. We return to Edoras at once."

Lothíriel was back on her feet in seconds, the rising panic urging her into action. This could not be happening!

She turned quickly and stepped closer to Brithwen, who stood watching the scene unfold with a grimly satisfied expression on her face. So this was the reason she and Athilda had been so friendly between each other as of late!

"Please, Brithwen! Don't do this! If you truly love Éomer, you won't let this happen!" she pleaded, but her words simply made the Shieldmaiden scoff in contempt.

"Trust me, filth, I'm doing him a favour!" she growled and stood back.

The two Riders dismounted, their heavy feet hitting the ground with a thud. Now more and more people were pouring out of the Hall and outbuildings to see what was happening, and Lothíriel could hear the confusion in their voices: _What has she done? What is her crime? She is innocent, the Lord Marshal will not stand for this..._

"Silence! This woman is suspected of being a Dunlending spy, and she is here without the leave of Théoden Lord of the Mark. She will be interrogated in Edoras and, if she is found innocent, she will be sent among her own people. These are the orders of the King", were the unforgiving words of the company's leader.

Lothíriel stood still. Terror washed over her, immobilising her limbs and silencing her tongue. She could not even cry out for help, or fight back as the two Riders took a hold of her by her elbows.

 _It's not happening, it's just a nightmare – I'm going to snap out of it any moment now, and Éomer will be by my side..._

Suddenly, there was a voice: "Let her go! She hasn't done anything!"

Saethryd came, half running and half charging, tailed by Aengifu. Both girls looked as fearless as any Shieldmaiden of song as they jumped to the defence of their friend.

"She's not a spy!" Aengifu added for her part as she threw her arms around Lothíriel, as though she could simply hold her and thus prevent them taking her away.

"Whatever that witch told you is not true! Everybody knows she's bitter about the Marshal leaving her!" Saethryd yelled at the Riders from Edoras.

"And we have shared a room with Daerien for many months now! Don't you think we would have noticed if she were spying?" Aengifu demanded angrily, looking like she might just fasten all four of her limbs around Lothíriel to prevent them from taking her away.

"Is that so? Who is to say she has not persuaded you two to betray your own folk?" Brithwen inquired coolly, and Saethryd hissed in anger at her words. She looked like she would have jumped to claw off the Shieldmaiden's eyes right then, but Folcred was there and he pulled her away, speaking quickly under his breath as he took her away.

But now Lothíriel had regained the control of her tongue, and she knew she had to speak before the men from Edoras thought to arrest her friends as well.

"I will come – I won't make any trouble. Just leave my friends out of it", she said, trying to step from Aengifu's arms, but the other woman prevented her.

"Daerien, no! You have done nothing wrong!" she objected, holding the princess' shoulders tight.

Somehow Lothíriel was able to smile.

"Then surely the King will not long wish to interrogate me, don't you agree? I must do as he commands", she said to her friend. That she was able to speak so steadily was possible only due to her high upbringing; women of Belfalas, the women of the Sea, had long since learned to take the most terrible news with their heads held up high. And she was a warrior's daughter – she would not face this with any less bravery than her father and brothers did meet their foes on battlefield.

She hugged Aengifu tight, knowing this was likely the last she would see this woman whose world had been so strange to her in the beginning, and yet their friendship had flourished against all her expectations.

"What about the Lord Marshal?" Aengifu asked in a small, sad voice.

"Just... tell him I'm sorry. Tell him I will love him until the end of days", she whispered into Aengifu's ear, and then she was pulled from the arms of her friend.

* * *

Aldburg had long since fallen behind when Lothíriel finally mastered her mind, which had been running wildly with terrified thoughts from the moment they had tied her hands. She had scarcely seen the landscape around them as they travelled, as her eyes were blurred with tears that kept running down her cheeks. None of the Riders from Edoras met her gaze, and she guessed they felt uncomfortable when they saw her fear and pain. The man leading her horse by reins never spoke to her, except when his captain ordered him to give her his cloak. Lothíriel was loath to accept it, but there had not been a chance to get her own back in Aldburg, and she was sure to freeze to death without some shelter.

Brithwen did not pay attention to her, either. The leader of the company had ordered her to come along as a witness; the Shieldmaiden did not seem pleased about this, but she obeyed nonetheless, and she rode at the head of the company. How long had she and Athilda been planning this? At least, they had known their ploy would never succeed while Éomer was at home. So they had chosen this time, which was perhaps the worst possible moment for Lothíriel's capture. Elbereth, if she only had told Athilda the truth! If she only had guessed just how deeply those two women resented her!

And they rode, away from the place Lothíriel had been safe and happy and loved, and as she wept silently she knew there was little to no chance of her ever seeing the town again. For once they reached Edoras, she would be at the mercy of Wormtongue, for it was all too clear to her who was the real ruler of Rohan's capital. There Éomer's name would not protect her – rather, it was like to be her demise, now that he had fallen from Théoden's graces. Whether the King's loathsome advisor decided she was significant or not, Lothíriel could not imagine it ending well for her. People said he was cunning, and so there was a fair chance of him guessing who she really was, and even if she were able to keep her secret, who was to say he wouldn't send her to Dunland? Not for a second did she believe she could survive there, nor did she imagine Dunlendings would receive her as a welcome guest.

Either way, she was doomed, and her and Éomer's worst fears were about to become true. Once she was under Wormtongue's thumb, even her Marshal would not be able to help her.

It was the thought of him that eventually helped her to emerge from grief and despair for the certainty of her fate. Yes, this might mean her end, but she could still save him – make sure she would not be dragging him down with her. This was the only thing she had left. And now, more than ever, Rohan needed the Third Marshal. Perhaps her demise would come to cost him and his folk later on, but right now she had to postpone that moment as long as she could.

There was just one problem: the moment Éomer heard she was in Edoras, that Wormtongue had her, he would come to get her. He wouldn't be thinking of the danger it put him in, or the ways his enemy might use her against him. How could she make sure Éomer would not try to save her? What way could she fool Wormtongue into thinking she was not important, and prevent him from realising how deeply she loved the Marshal?

The answer was as simple as it was cruel. The only way Éomer would let her go was if he thought she wanted to get as far away from him and from Rohan as she could... he would not care about her fate if he hated her.

The thought was a crushing one, falling on her shoulders with the weight of a mountain. Though she tried to keep quiet and contain her grief, the barest whimper still escaped her mouth; the man riding by her side glanced at her, and even through the veil of tears she thought he looked pitying. But Lothíriel closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, fighting against the agony that was building up into a scream in the back of her throat.

 _It's for him. It's all for him – so that he can live and help his king to save this land,_ she thought desperately, seeking comfort in the knowledge Éomer would be safe if she did this thing. Or, at least his future would not depend on her. Oh, how desperately she would have liked to just give in, be helpless and wait for him to come to her rescue! But if she truly loved him, then she would have to surrender herself to this uncertain fate and walk the bitter path.

If she loved him, she would take his demise on herself.

The silent tears took their time, rolling down her cheeks which were already sticky and red. But eventually a thought occurred to Lothíriel: how was she to manage this thing? How could she convince him it was not some ploy? Éomer had to believe it, lest Wormtongue suspected foul play.

She would need help. Alone she was never going to make Éomer believe she had suddenly had a change of heart, So she rejected the pain and the knowledge of doom that lay ahead, and instead she focused on the one bright thing: the man she loved would survive. It cleared her mind enough for a plan to start to form, and she knew exactly the person she would need for this to work.

She only hoped Brithwen could be persuaded to help.

* * *

As it had been late afternoon already when they had left Aldburg, the Riders decided they would not press for the capital tonight but instead camp by the road. One of them lifted Lothíriel from the back of the horse, but then she was left standing, her hands still bound. She had not bothered to tell them it was unnecessary to restrain her – where would she go, anyway, if she had her hands free? It wasn't like she could outride trained Rohirrim, or survive by herself on the plains. She had no desire to renew the wandering which had first brought her to Éomer, as she knew just how unlikely it was she would be so lucky again as to be found by him once more.

The memory of that time, so long ago now it seemed, tore at her heart. Yet she could not help but remember the first glimpse of her Marshal in the waking world, and how he had looked at her then... for a second, she had not been sure if he were real at all. How could someone like him _be_ real? Surely, when this all would end and she would go to her fate, the time she had spent with Éomer would seem like she had lived a while in a dream.

She had never asked what he had thought that day on the plains – if he had been surprised to see her... if he too would think of this, think of _them,_ as nothing more than a dream of a less sorrowful world. Now she would never get to ask him about it. And, as a terrifying sensation fell on her, she recalled she had never told him that she loved him. Yet maybe, the most analytical part of her suggested, it was for the better. Even during that last parting in the pouring rain, she had not said those words to him... grimly she hoped it would help her to convince her lover that she regarded him nothing more than a means to an end.

When the camp was standing and supper had been made, one of the Riders came to push a bowl into her hands. But Lothíriel held up her tied hands, and she gave him a pleading look.

"Could you release me? I promise I won't run", she said, and seeing his doubtful look, she hurried to add, "What would be the point, anyway? I know I'm not a match to any of you horseback."

The man grunted something under his breath, and she thought it sounded like an agreement. He looked away and searched for something with his eyes, until his gaze stopped at Brithwen, "You there! Come and keep an eye on the prisoner."

The Shieldmaiden looked less than pleased with this task, but she did not refuse. Meanwhile, the Rider produced a dagger and used it to cut Lothíriel's hands free. which was welcome indeed. Her fingers had become numb for the pressure of ropes and the itchy material had left her wrists raw and red. Then the bowl was thrust in her hands and she sat down somewhat clumsily. The long hours in the saddle had left her stiff and uncomfortable.

It was hours since she had last eaten, but she had no appetite now, and anyway she felt like she would probably throw up anything she tried to swallow. So she put the bowl aside and cast a careful glance at the woman who silently sat nearby, eating and looking like the food had personally offended her.

 _There's nothing to it,_ Lothíriel thought to herself and braced for the conversation to come, _this could be my only chance of talking to her._

"Brithwen", she spoke the name of the auburn-haired woman. How odd it was, that they should both love Éomer so much, and yet it seemed like there was this abyss between them.

"Don't talk to me", came the curt reply. Brithwen did not even lift her eyes from her meal.

"It is very important that we speak. I know you do not like me, and I don't expect you to, but you must listen to me now", Lothíriel pressed on, moving slightly closer.

Now the Shieldmaiden looked up and glared at her. In any other situation it might have disheartened the princess, but not at this moment – not when she knew what lay ahead. Knowing her fate and having accepted it, nothing scared her anymore.

"I am not interested in anything you have to say", Brithwen said coldly.

"Believe me, I'm not talking to you because I fancy idle chatter", Lothíriel told her, her voice sharp at first. But when she continued, she softened her tone, "It's about Éomer."

Again the Shieldmaiden's eyes flashed, but now the light in them was positively dangerous. For a moment Lothíriel even thought the other woman might go for her throat.

Brithwen did lean closer to her, but did not lay hands on the prisoner.

"Don't you dare speak his name!" she hissed under her breath. Yet if her intention was to frighten Lothíriel, it was not successful.

"Could you please calm down for a minute? This is not some petty fight about who gets to have him, as if that was for us to decide. Brithwen, I need your help to save him", she told Brithwen, her tone holding some ire now, and some of the command she had wielded as the Princess of Dol Amroth. It was strange to use that sense of authority after so many months of hiding herself and concealing the things she had been before Rohan, but it was still there, rising to her use like she had never left it. The Shieldmaiden sensed it too, because now she looked surprised and doubtful.

"Save him? From what?" Brithwen wanted to know, narrowing her eyes.

"From _me._ What do you think will happen once we reach Edoras and I am delivered into Wormtongue's hands? Do you really believe Éomer is just going to sit by and do nothing? If the worst happens – and I believe it will, unless we do something – I will be used to bring down the last hope of Rohan", Lothíriel answered gravely. The Shieldmaiden stared at her, the bowl of food half-eaten and forgotten in her hands.

"You seem to think yourself very important, foreigner´", the she stated and stared at her hard.

"Brithwen, please. Now is not the time to debate nonsense. I need you to trust me in this. I'm not asking it for myself, but for _him._ If you truly care about Éomer, you won't let them use me against him", Lothíriel insisted, growing more and more frustrated with the Shieldmaiden's stubborn insistence not to listen to her.

"Tell me, why should I trust you?" Brithwen asked, and her mouth was a thin unfriendly line.

The princess sighed. She could see the other woman wasn't going to believe her. Not unless she was completely honest. At this point, it was her only chance, and if Brithwen truly loved Éomer as much as Lothíriel thought she did, she would not be able to dismiss this.

"If Éomer is not reason enough, then perhaps this is: I am not named Daerien, and I did not come from Dunland. I am Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth. My father is a lord of Gondor and I was sent here because my uncle wanted to marry me off to a pirate lord of Umbar. But our plans went awry and my escort was slaughtered by orcs on the road. I was wandering in the wild alone when Éomer found me – I would probably have died if he had not brought me to Aldburg. At first I thought I would be safer to conceal my identity, even from the Marshal, but eventually I had to tell him everything. He agreed to continue to shelter me, and we decided to pretend to be lovers, so that I might stay in Aldburg and remain hidden under his protection. From the moment he had learned the truth, he knew I could not end up in Wormtongue's hands, as he was sure to use me as a leverage and perhaps do serious damage to both our realms. If a princess of Dol Amroth died in Rohan, then in the worst case my uncle the Steward of Gondor might even declare war on your people. But now the very thing we feared is going to happen, and the moment Éomer hears I'm in Edoras, he will come to get me. And in the process, he will make himself vulnerable to Wormtongue's schemes, and I don't dare to imagine what will happen when the Third Marshal is no more", Lothíriel explained, her voice devoid of any emotion as she made clear the things she had only told one person until this moment. When she spoke, she did not use the easier and more casual structures of Rohirric; rather, she delivered her speech in formal tones of Westron she would have used in her father's court, and she stared straight into Brithwen's eyes as proudly as any high lady of Gondor would.

Whether it was her words or the change in her manners that finally convinced Brithwen, she did not know. In any case, she did see the Shieldmaiden's expression turn from doubt into wonder and then at last into horror, as she realised the consequences of her and Athilda's ploy.

"I... I did not mean... I didn't want him to get hurt", Brithwen stammered at last, her hands pressing into fists. Her face had gone white as bone and her voice came out choked, "I thought we were doing him a favour, getting rid of you... Athilda said he is too infatuated, and that he was going to take you to wife... there have been all these Dunlending attacks in the Westfold, and all I could think of was how blind he was being. Things are already getting so bad, even without someone with the blood of Dunland getting close to our very throne! And then Théodred died, and all our fears seemed to be coming true. We thought we had to send you away from him!"

"So, instead you decided to hand me over to Wormtongue and blame me of being a spy, thus giving him a weapon against Éomer? Let him announce far and wide that the King's nephew keeps an enemy in his very own household?" Lothíriel asked with some vitriol, though she knew this blaming would not change anything.

Brithwen's eyes widened and she looked, if possible, even more horrified.

"I didn't realise... I didn't think of it that way! Believe me, I was so blinded by my hurt and anger, and everything Athilda said just seemed to confirm it! But it wasn't to cause him harm. I would never do that!" she insisted, and in her eyes glistened something Lothíriel could only take for tears. Still, Brithwen held them back and she looked away, diminishing where she sat.

Lothíriel's heart softened as she looked at the other woman. What pain it must be, having loved Éomer so much, and knowing he would never answer it... seeing him give all that he had to another. Not that it was the same, but she could sympathise on a certain level: for a while, the princess had been under the impression he would never love her. And even in her anger, Brithwen did not hate him, or couldn't think of harming him.

She sighed and looked away for a moment. Would it have been possible to avoid this if she had properly confronted Brithwen before? If she had just explained everything before it was too late? No wonder the auburn-haired woman had made such conclusions, for her and Éomer's actions had rather encouraged this: the way they hadn't been able to keep their hands off of each other even in public had surely given plenty of ideas to those who happened to witness it. On the other hand, it would still have left Athilda... and the ring of those who knew her tale would have been that much larger. All it would have taken for them was a little slip. But would that have been worse than this situation? There might have been some brief comfort in being angry at Brithwen or Athilda, but it would have grown shallow quickly. For Lothíriel knew in the heated rush of love she had lulled herself into a false sense of security, and she had never considered Athilda or Brithwen could be a real threat to her.

"Well, it doesn't matter now. What has been done can't be changed", she said quietly, rejecting the pain of loss. Now was not the time to wallow in misery.

So she looked briskly at the Shieldmaiden again, and she spoke once more, "But there is still time to prevent it. I do not care what happens to me, but I cannot let Wormtongue use me against Éomer. Will you help me?"

Brithwen lifted her head and though her eyes were not dry yet, her expression was resolved.

"I will."

* * *

Neither of the two women slept much the following night. Most of it they spent in a hushed conversation, weaving their plan and discussing how they would be able to fool both Wormtongue and Éomer. Lothíriel had already resigned herself to a likely death, but Brithwen's suggestions to their course of action held the hope she wouldn't have to die. In fact, if all things went after their mind, she might be able to return to Gondor once this was over. Even so, it was clear it was all hanging on a delicate balance, and smallest shifts induced by others might change everything. For example, if Lothíriel could not make her performance convincing enough, then Éomer might not believe she was telling the truth.

Eventually, they were satisfied with the plan they had weaved, and Brithwen suggested they both get a few hours of sleep. Lothíriel agreed, though she didn't think she could fall asleep. Following days would not be easy, even if this scheme did turn out the way they wanted. And she knew it was very small on a grand scale of things... but perhaps, if she could manage this one tiny portion and remove herself from the board of power game, then maybe Wormtongue could assail Éomer in fewer fonts. She had to hope so, at least.

As she curled up on the ground, Lothíriel thought of this past day, and those that were now ahead of her. If her plan worked out perfectly, and if there would be a chance of going home... it was likely she would be leaving Rohan behind forever. What was here for her, if Éomer hated her? And yet, what was in Dol Amroth, when she was no more the girl who had left the city behind? She had become an exile and a servant and a lover, her good name was tarnished, and she could not even imagine living the way she used to before all this. Her future was a path shrouded in shadows.

Hugging her knees close to her chest, she fought against the tears that were threatening to pour out once more. She knew now what awaited her in Edoras was the most difficult thing she had ever done. And then, if they succeeded, she would have to leave the man she loved... already she missed him, aching for the briefest glimpse of his face, and one last sweet moment to recall in times to come. She hoped he wouldn't be too disappointed and heartbroken, but move on and be happy again, even if that was without her. The thought was painful indeed, as it was to think of the life that would never be hers now. She was not losing just him, but an entire future, a world of possibilities. There would be no life in Aldburg, nights spent in his Hall, daily labours and feasts, songs and tales and jokes, or afternoons spent riding on the plains... she wouldn't be welcoming him home after patrols or a visit to Edoras, nor would she ever be making love to him in the light of fire again. And she would not bear any fair-haired children into this world.

It was almost too much to bear. Desperately, Lothíriel tried to think of something comforting. Was it too hopeful to wish that maybe one day, year or two from now, she might see him again and explain what had happened? Would he agree to meet her, to say nothing of listening to her? What was more, would they even be alive a year from now? She had no idea if the plan would make any difference. All the same, she had to try. If there was the tiniest chance...

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. It was thankless to rage against the loss of him, or to call it unfair – she had already received so much more happiness and love than she had ever hoped to experience. In the course of two months she had lived more fully than some lived in a decade. And the time she had spent with Éomer, although it was at an end now, she would not have exchanged for anything in the world.

Lothíriel did sleep a couple of hours that night, but it was fitful and she kept flinching awake. In the morning, she felt stiff and groggy and just generally miserable. Her eyes were puffy from all the crying, which she tried to remedy by scrubbing her face with clear, cold water of a small stream nearby the camp. Appearing tearful and morose in Edoras would not help her to fool Wormtongue.

Thankfully, the Riders left her alone for most of the morning, and Brithwen too only briefly nodded at her to reassert their pact. There was nothing hateful about the Shieldmaiden's eyes now, only bitter determination for what they would have to do. The princess couldn't help but wonder what the auburn-haired woman was planning on doing after this if all went according to their mind. Would Brithwen take the opportunity and try to get back with Éomer? Lothíriel decided it didn't really matter. She didn't own him, and if Brithwen could help him get over this... well, how could she begrudge either of them for it? Above all, she wanted her beloved horselord to be _happy._

The sun was rising when they started for Edoras again. Once more Lothíriel was riding with her hands bound, though she felt it was more because of some kind of a show than actual need. As the knots in her stomach grew tighter, she went over the plan over and over again, telling herself she could do it. She had fooled people of Aldburg this long, hadn't she? It couldn't be impossible to fool Wormtongue, too... and Éomer as well.

Other thoughts entered her mind only briefly when they at last sighted Edoras around midday. In wonder Lothíriel gazed at the capital of the Riddermark, and the Hall that ruled the plains around the hill where it had been built. Sunlight glimmered and shined on the home of the Kings of Rohan, and she understood why it was called the Golden Hall. It was just as beautiful as she had imagined it, based on Éomer's descriptions. Just like Aldburg, it bore no resemblance to the stone palaces of the south – rather, it seemed to her like something from an entirely different world. As she gazed at the heart of the Riddermark, Lothíriel felt regretful she was not going there with Éomer... he wouldn't be showing her around in the Hall of his uncle, or introduce her to Lady Éowyn his sister. Worrying her lip, she wondered if she would be meeting Éomer's sibling in Edoras, and what she would think of the seemingly deceitful foreigner who had so used her brother the Third Marshal...

The sun was high when they began to approach the city of kings. From afar, Lothíriel had seen the mounds spotted with white, which lined the last stretch of the road to the gates. When the company of Riders bowed their heads during their passing, she realised the mounds were tombs. Éomer had spoken about them as well – there lay the late kings of the Mark, forever guarding the entrance to the capital. The spots of white she had seen were small flowers, which in Sindarin were named _alfirin._ But her beloved had called them Simbelmynë. In Rohan, it bloomed even through winter.

The gates were opened for the company, and greetings were exchanged between them and the guards. Some of their eyes she could feel on herself, but Lothíriel gazed ahead and pretended to be unaware of everything around her. Even so, she thought to herself what they must be thinking. Did they consider her an enemy, a stranger who had no place among them? Or maybe just another pawn in the games Wormtongue played... there was a kind of curiosity now, she had to admit. What was this man like, to be so hated and feared? But she shuddered as well, knowing she would need a good deal of luck to make it through this.

They followed the road that climbed up through the city. On their way, they saw some of the people living here, and she thought they seemed even more grim than she felt. Some of them looked at her with open hostility, as though she had personally offended them. But Lothíriel did not wonder. She knew as well as anyone in the Mark just what was happening in Westfold.

Lothíriel closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Time was running short now, and soon she would have to face the greatest peril this exile had presented her with so far. _I can't throw up now. I need to focus,_ she thought to herself, struggling to keep calm.

At last they reached the courtyard of the Golden Hall. It was oddly quiet and empty, and here people seemed even more sullen as they went about in their labours. Stablehands did come to take the horses, but they paid little notice to her. Two of the Riders escorting her took a hold of her by elbows like she was some dangerous villain, and the entire gesture seemed enormously unnecessary. Where would she run, anyway? But she remained silent and tried to keep up with them as they began to stride towards the stone steps of the Hall. Even now, she couldn't help but admire the sight of it – the intricate wood carvings, the great pillars holding the beautiful headboard, layers upon layers of stone that made up the terrace, and the gilded roof that gave a shine like living sunlight... this was indeed a dwelling of kings, different than the cold and unforgiving stone fortresses of the south.

Her admiration nearly had her stumbling on her feet as they climbed, and she would probably have gone flying without the men by her sides. Their unfaltering grips kept her upwards, and they more or less carried her the rest of the way. Up on the platform she saw tall men in full armour, wearing helmets over their heads and cloaked in beautiful green cloaks. These were the King's own knights and they were deadlier in battle than any ordinary warrior one would come across. The the Doorwards of Meduseld opened the twin doors into the Golden Hall, the Riders let her go and two of green-mantled guards took her by arms, and she prayed.

 _Elbereth, help me now. Let me get through this, let me fool them, let me succeed. I do not ask this for me, but for the one I love..._

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** And here we go! Things have really taken a turn for the worse as far as Lothíriel is concerned. I would say Athilda and Brithwen's grudge was eventually going to come and bite her in the back, but both she and Éomer had rather lulled themselves to a false sense of security. However, Brithwen's actions - however misguided - are for a good part because she genuinely cares about Éomer and thinks he is/was making a bad choice. But as soon as Lothíriel reveals what is what, she realises it wasn't really such a good idea. And because she understands this could be really bad for Éomer, she's able to put aside her animosity towards Lothíriel. If it seems she accepts the reveal very quickly, it's probably because she's far more shocked to realise her actions may have caused a serious threat on Éomer's life. As for Athilda, I think her traumatic experiences with losing her family has turned this into a matter far, far beyond the reach of reason. Also, Théodred's death and Éomer's becoming the one next in line to the throne is what indeed triggers their scheme.

But how this will turn out, and if Lothíriel will be successful in her attempt, remains to be seen now!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **EStrunk -** Yes, it was going to get worse eventually. We will see what happens now!

 **Anon -** Thank you! I'm glad if I was able to convey that sensation. :) As of now, her next meeting with Éomer might not be the most pleasant one... but at any rate, neither of them know what will happen next and what sort of a war is actually ahead of them.

 **Rangella -** Thank you for your lovely words! I'm very happy to hear my writing has impacted you so strongly. :) As for the war, we are almost there!

 **pulchritudo in omnia -** These events certainly don't promise them good! It might just be the worst Lothíriel has encountered yet. I suppose what she can or will do next depends entirely on how her and Brithwen's plan will work out! And Éomer is surely going to have an interesting time when he meets her father...

 **Madam X -** That they surely are!

 **mazzmataz -** Yes, things are very much heating up even more in this chapter!

 **Rubandepluie -** I'm afraid things may not go that easily now!

 **meldisil -** The events thus far have indeed strengthened her a great deal! We'll see if it's enough for what she has ahead of her now.

 **sailor68 -** Seems like her life is in some peril as of now! And whether she'll meet Éomer before he rides to Gondor... we'll see!

 **berry-cool -** Oh dear! How on earth did you have to patience to read through all 20 chapters in one go? In any case, I'm glad you enjoy this story so much!


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Lothíriel's first impression of Meduseld was its dimness. After the bright daylight, the great Hall seemed even darker than it was really; only a few torches and candles, less than half the capacity, gave any light to the shadows. It was nothing like Aldburg, where sunlight and shadow were always at play during daytime, and where fires would be ignited when night came. If the Hall was beautiful, she couldn't tell – it felt like there was some kind of a sickly film covering all that might have been fair to look at.

The Hall was long and great carved pillars supported the high ceiling. There was a large fireplace in the middle, much like in Aldburg. In fact, she saw many similarities between Meduseld and Éomer's home, and she remembered both of them had been built by Eorl the Young, though the legendary first King of the Mark had died before the Golden Hall had been finished. From the rafters, beautifully made pennants and banners were hanging, and some of them were so ancient they looked like falling apart. Not many people were around, and most of them looked like the guards of the King's own household. Few of them conversed quietly in small groups, and some fell silent to watch her as she was walked by them. There were a couple of servants at work, too, but they paid her no attention. Lothíriel thought they all looked grim and hopeless.

At the end of the Hall there was a dais, and in the middle stood a throne, richly carved of warm brown wood. The wall behind it was covered by gilded carvings, which shone as though in their own light even in this darkness, and there were banners of the House of Eorl: the White Horse and the Sun.

But then her eyes were drawn to the man sitting on the throne. He was old, ancient even, and shaggy white hair fell in tangles on his shoulders. His robes were heavy and sagging and his head was bowed as though in deep contemplation. He lifted his eyes only very briefly when she and the guards approached, and quickly his gaze drifted away again. There was Théoden King, Lord of the Mark and uncle to Éomer. And for the first time, she realised her beloved might actually have been downplaying it when he had said the King was not well.

A sudden movement in the shadows caught her eye, and she saw another man appearing. Among tall, blond Riders he rather stood out: his hair was almost as dark as her own, and his skin was even paler than hers. His eyes were a strange, light colour that was rather unsettling when his gaze fell on her. The look in them was keen and scrutinising, though not in the same way as Éomer's was. This man was not like to be warmly disposed towards anyone, and least of all to her. Lothíriel had already guessed who he was, and she braced herself. As long as she was before Gríma Wormtongue, she couldn't let her act fall apart.

He regarded her for a while, speaking no word, and she kept her face blank. Though there was a shiver of disgust running down her spine, induced by Éomer's hatred for this man, she knew she couldn't let it show. He had to think she was indifferent to him, that she was too air-headed and caught in her own petty little circumstances to be considered a player. And while she had never made a habit of participating court intrigue back in Gondor, Aunt Ivriniel had made sure she knew the rules of that game.

Eventually, Wormtongue turned his eyes away from her. He hovered close to the throne and had a whispered conversation with the King, though it mostly seemed rather one-sided. Then he straightened once more and looked at the company before the dais.

"Where is Brithwen daughter of Breca?" he asked; he had a soft voice, and it might have been pleasant if it hadn't been so cold.

"Here I am, Lord Gríma", said the Shieldmaiden as she stepped forward.

"Is this the spy you send tidings of?" Gríma inquired, shifting his eyes now to Lothíriel. The two Riders still held her by arms, though she stayed motionless.

"I thought she was, lord. But I have since learned the truth of this matter. This woman is no spy, nor is she a Dunlending. I made a mistake", Brithwen replied, just as the two women had planned.

Wormtongue narrowed his eyes, but if he was surprised by this turn of events, it did not show on his face.

"Is that so? In your message you were quite convinced she is a sly schemer and a foe of Rohan", he pointed out, stepping forward but not leaving the dais. Next to him, the King sat silent.

"I was wrong, Lord Grima. After we left Aldburg yesterday she explained everything to me, showing me my error", said the Shieldmaiden calmly. She stood with her feet slightly apart, bearing herself in the fashion of a warrior. It wasn't so wrong to call this a battlefield.

The pale-eyed man remained doubtful. He considered Brithwen for one minute more before turning to Lothíriel again. Praying for the strength she would need to get through this, she met his gaze steadily.

"Tell me, girl, what is the truth about you?" he inquired, staring at her in a way that made her wonder if he was hoping to unnerve her into speaking.

"It is as Brithwen says. I'm not a spy from Dunland", Lothíriel spoke, silently thankful she had in her previous life made enough effort to listen to idle court conversations to be able to mimic that mixture of empty-headed carefreeness some of the most devious schemers of her society would use as their armour. Adorning her words with a smile, she went on, "My name is Daerien, that much is true. But my home lies south in Gondor, and I come from Minas Tirith."

That raised some mutters among the people witnessing this scene. Wormtongue, however, was not so easily convinced. Not that she had expected this to be easy.

"Pray tell, why did you then pretend to be from the lands of our enemies? What purpose did your lies serve?" he asked her.

Lothíriel shrugged, as much as it was possible with the hands holding her arms. She added a small toss of hair into it as well, along with a guileless little smile.

"Why, it seemed like a good joke at the time, and then I decided to go along with it", she chided airily. It was a good thing this scene was taking place here in Edoras. Except for Brithwen, these people had never seen her before and they didn't know about what had been her manners and countenance back in Aldburg. Had she put on this show before the eyes of Éomer's people, they would have known immediately just how fake it was.

Wormtongue tilted his head and regarded her, looking a bit like he was wondering if she was touched in the head. But Lothíriel went on, chattering away as though she was conversing weather, "Though I must admit, it was not just for fun. My father had arranged a marriage for me with this particularly hideous man. He was _old_ and ugly and entirely too fond of garlic. And he was _jealous,_ and I knew if I married him, I would never as much see another male as I lived. Can you imagine, being chained like that for the rest of your life? It was a dreadful affair and Father wasn't changing his mind, no matter how I tried. So I ran away from home, deciding to look for freedom somewhere far. I had heard stories about Rohan, and that even women could have a great deal of fun here, without annoying kinsmen watching her each step and spewing exhausting moral stories about virtue. At the time I was found, I decided it wouldn't do if I was just sent back to my father. I hadn't even met any Riders yet, or discovered if any of the stories about them were true! And so I lied about where I had come. But none of my intentions were meant to insult the King."

"The King decides if he is insulted or not, girl. What of your liaison with the Third Marshal?" Wormtongue asked. His face did not betray if he believed any of her tale, but though any reaction would have been a welcome sign of whether she was succeeding or not, Lothíriel kept her expression tightly under control. Her only chance – and Éomer's – was if this man before her took her for a wanton, careless adventurer. _Keep it together. You need to stay calm, or Éomer will suffer._

She let out a small mischievous laugh and shook her head, looking at the King's advisor as though he had asked her something as inconsequential as her opinion on last week's rainfall.

"It was good sport, my lord. Gondorian men are like cold fish, and about as lively between the sheets. In my land, you don't exactly get to ride many stallions, if you get my meaning", she chirped and laughed again. Then she glanced at the two men by her sides, giving them what she hoped was a seductive smile.

Wormtongue stood silently, his pale eyes scrutinising and weighing her; she met his stare with a careless little smile that implied she had no idea of how dire her situation was. At last he moved, shifting away his gaze, and she would have sighed for relief had she dared. Lothíriel felt like she had been a squirrel under the gaze of a wolf, but now the attention of that beast which could have swallowed her whole had moved elsewhere.

"Take the girl to the cells. The King will have to decide what to do with her", he announced at last, and Lothíriel tried not to swallow in dread. Was this a good or a bad thing? Did he buy her story? Wormtongue now looked at Brithwen and continued, "As for you, _Shieldmaiden,_ let this be a last time you bother the crown with such nonsense."

"Duly noted, lord", she said and bowed, and her face showed no emotion.

"You are dismissed."

The two Riders turned, once more gripping their prisoner tight by her arms. She adjusted her pace to theirs, and she fought to retain the smile on her face, though her cheeks were starting to hurt from the fake expression. She didn't look at Brithwen, even if she would have liked... she wanted to see the other woman's face, and if she could trust her.

 _I have made the first move. Now it's your turn, Brithwen... just don't fail._

* * *

After the strange events of past few days, Éomer had to admit he was actually somewhat relieved to see the gates of Edoras before him at last. Here, he knew where he stood. Here, world made sense. Well, it was often in a horrific way, but he had learned to make do with it. The events of past few days, however, were something to leave even a steely-nerved man deeply disturbed.

He had ridden in haste to the eastern parts of the realm, tracking a great number of uruk-hai, which they had pursued all the way to the edges of Fangorn forest. There they had sieged the war-party and assaulted them, which was all that Théoden had forbidden him from doing. Éomer had felt grim satisfaction at their eventual victory, though it had been slightly hindered by the arrival of another company of orcs – ilk of Mordor, it looked like. But ultimately the only thing he cared about was they were now dead, and would harm no living thing anymore.

He had slain their leader in a single combat and they had burned their carcasses, and then Éomer had decided they would head back to Edoras. He didn't particularly look forward to confronting Théoden and his adviser, but it couldn't be avoided.

But on their way back to the capital, something strange had happened. Even now Éomer wondered if he had been dreaming the whole thing. However, the absence of two horses confirmed that the company of three his éored had encountered on the plains had indeed been real. A Man, an Elf, and a Dwarf... what strange quest could possibly unite a group so unlikely? And then there had been that talk of Halflings and the wood of witchcraft in the north! Truly, it seemed like legends were springing to life in full daylight.

Still, more often Éomer's mind turned to the tall man of Dúnedain. There had been things he had recognised, like the dark hair and bright grey eyes. This was a man of Lothíriel's own people – one of those in whom the blood of Númenor ran strong. Aragorn his name was, and he had called himself Isildur's Heir. With this declaration, a sudden hope was ignited in the heart of the Third Marshal. If the scion of the legendary House of kings had come forth, then perhaps the war that was coming could be won?

With this hope, Éomer had made the decision he knew could come to cost him dearly once he reached Edoras: strangers were no longer permitted to travel the land like the three companions had. He ought to have apprehended them and brought them before Théoden King. But their words had convinced him, and he had allowed them to pass freely. He had even given them horses, though some of his men had doubted the wisdom of that action. Even so, he placed his faith in their promise they would come to Edoras once they had found their friends. And Éomer knew he could trust Aragorn to keep his word.

There was also something else the Ranger had said, which kept returning to his mind as they hastened back to the capital. _None may live now as they have lived, and few shall keep what they call their own._

These words had awakened an unquiet in Éomer's mind and heart, and he thought of Lothíriel back in Aldburg. A terrible dread of losing had come to him... but also a fear for her safety. Who would guard her if he was harmed somehow in the storm of coming days? And so the conviction grew in his thoughts: the first chance he would get, he would ride in haste back to his seat. There, he would ask her to marry him immediately. Damn the proper way, and damn the consequences! They had left the right conduct behind long ago, and these were not the times to pay heed to such rules. Her father would understand, and she had said it was too late to salvage her life in Dol Amroth anyway.

However, before any of that could come to pass, Éomer would have to face his uncle in Edoras, and see what his disobedience would cost him.

So they rode through the capital, all of them silent as they wondered what was to come. Éothain's expression grew more and more grim as they got closer to the Golden Hall, perhaps partly because of the orders Éomer had given him before.

"If things go badly for me", he had said to his friend, "You must take the leadership of my éored. Go back to Aldburg and defend it to the last. And tell Daerien I'm sorry. Tell her I will love her even after the stars fall and the Sun burns out."

"It can't come into that, Éomer. I won't believe that. We will not abandon you, for you are our Marshal. And you are the King's rightful heir now", Éothain had told him stubbornly, and the younger man had seen there was no arguing with his friend.

In the courtyard of Meduseld he saw something he did not expect. There, near the stables, stood none else than Brithwen. What was she doing here? What purpose could possibly have brought her to the capital? Then he saw she was desperately seeking his eyes with her own, and when their gazes locked, she shifted as though she wanted to spring to him. He frowned to himself as an ill feeling began to grow. Something was afoot and he did not like it one bit.

Once Firefoot was securely in the care of the stablehand, he started forward with Éothain on his heels. While Brithwen's presence and her reaction to his arrival certainly did make him curious, it would have to wait for later – though he had no idea what would happen once he faced the King.

But Brithwen wasn't going to let him pass just so. She stepped forward and grabbed him by forearm tightly.

"Éomer, we need to talk", she said in a low voice.

"Not now. The King will be expecting me", he told her and made a move to walk ahead again, but her grip only tightened.

When she spoke, her voice was even more quiet.

"Lothíriel is here", she hissed, trying to keep Éothain from hearing.

"What are you talking about!" the Marshal growled, his earlier intention entirely forgotten. A thousand questions sprang to his mind, and not least of them was just how did Brithwen know the truth. What was happening? What dreadful thing had taken place in his absence?

"She's, here, Éomer. But don't worry. Wormtongue doesn't know the truth about her", the Shieldmaiden answered, though the words did nothing to console him.

He pulled at her arm, leading her to a shadowy corner next to the stables. This was not a conversation he wanted anyone listening to, not even Éothain.

"Explain", he hissed to his former mistress. Her eyes were anxious and bright.

"You're not going to like it, but here comes", she said, taking a deep breath. "She came to me the same night you rode to hunt those orcs. She told me everything and said she wanted to go back to Gondor. We didn't know when and if you would be coming back, and she said she didn't want to face you like that, or stay behind waiting for the news that would announce you dead. So we decided to come here and ask for the King's pardon. But we needed an escort, and she didn't want to leave people in Aldburg wondering why she suddenly disappeared. I made up this story how I thought she was a spy from Dunland and sent the word to Wormtongue, knowing he'd immediately send Riders to get her. Then as we got here only this morning, she told him a bit different version of that story about her uncle. I think he believed her. At least no one seems to suspect she's a Gondorian princess."

Éomer stood frozen, trying to process Brithwen's words. He felt like he was caught in some bizarre dream where everything was upside down – surely the two women joining forces like that seemed unlikely! None of it made any sense! Why would Lothíriel want to leave without saying anything? Didn't she know how dangerous it was?

"What game is this, Brithwen? Why does she want to leave when the roads are so dangerous?" he demanded to know, gripping her forearm tightly. A panicked sensation was starting to grow at the back of his mind, and he felt like a man who has woken up to realise his nightmare is not just a dream.

"It's not a game, Éomer. She said she got scared. When Théodred died... well, I guess it made her realise just how fragile her position here is. And she thought you wouldn't be able to protect her anymore. She said she wants to go home. She wants her father", Brithwen answered solemnly.

"I don't believe you", he managed at last, though his voice was choked. It couldn't be true! These past two months... it couldn't have just been in his head! And yet, she had never said it... she had never spoken those words to him. Lothíriel had not actually told him she loved him.

His mind rejected the idea. Hadn't he seen it in her eyes? Hadn't he heard it in her voice? She couldn't have just pretended it! But an ugly little voice rose to speak, and it reminded him she had fooled him for many weeks when she had first come to Aldburg. And his folk had never guessed she wasn't what she claimed. All this time, she had been wearing disguises... who was to say he knew what was the truth behind it all?

"She thought you would say that. That's why she gave me this... she asked me to give it back to you. Called it a token by which you would know I'm telling the truth. The princess says she's done with you", Brithwen said, and then she pressed something in his hand.

Éomer's hand was shaking as he lowered his eyes to see the object that now lay on his palm. And there it was, the golden necklace his mother had once worn, and which had many months now been adorning Lothíriel's neck.

His fingers closed so tightly around the necklace that some sharp edge of it cut into his flesh. When he opened his hand, the clear white jewels were the colour of blood.

* * *

When the guards had taken her to the cells, Lothíriel had resigned herself for what could be a lengthy imprisonment. Obviously, Wormtongue didn't seem to have an idea of what to do with her. She supposed it was a good thing, for now at least. Even so, being left alone in idleness was hardly pleasant, and her mind grew uneasy very quickly. There she sat alone, wondering what would happen now... how soon Éomer would arrive in Edoras, and what he would do when he learned she was here. She could only hope Brithwen would be successful in convincing him. And yet, even if they succeeded... the pain of the thought nearly knocked her breathless. After today, she was not likely to see again the man she loved.

Lothíriel wiped her eyes stubbornly, wishing away the moistness in her eyes. There would be plenty of time to grieve later on. Now she had to focus on playing her part.

Her time at the cell did not turn out as long as she had first expected, for it was not yet afternoon when a pair of guards appeared once more.

"Lord Gríma has summoned you", said the taller of them as the second one opened the door of the cell. Lothíriel did not know if she was relieved or afraid of having to face the King's advisor again.

"What for?" she asked, though she was not able to inject her voice with the same carelessness as before. But perhaps cells could be expected to have such impact even on the most air-headed individual.

"He has some questions", came the answer, and she had to fight to keep her face blank. What more could Wormtongue want to know? But whatever it was, she would have to keep calm. She couldn't fail now.

She was escorted back to the great Hall of Meduseld, but unlike before, the guards let go of her arms at the doors. Still, they remained close by, she saw one of them shifting restlessly next to her – she understood she was supposed to move. And she did, forcing her feet to walking, although she could see now the exact reason Wormtongue had requested her presence.

Éomer was here. He was standing before the dais, and she knew he must have arrived only a while ago, as he was in armour and there was the breath of wind in his golden hair. He was still with his back to her, but that second it took for him to move, she understood: she couldn't meet his gaze. For if she looked straight at him now, if she saw his dear strong face and the dark piercing eyes, she would not be able to do this.

He was moving now, and a voice was screaming in her head to dart and run into his arms, or at the very least look at him – for this could very well be the last image of him she would be able to take with her. But she rejected it and instead shifted her face, denying him the glimpse of what would immediately betray her. ¨

"Daerien?" he spoke the false name, his voice stark and cool and strong, and he had never addressed to her in such a way. She could only hope it meant Brithwen had got to him. Much depended on it, because if _this_ was where he first learned of her betrayal... if he wasn't able to conceal his reaction... then Wormtongue would guess her value as a weapon against the Third Marshal. But if Brithwen had already told him Lothiriel had meant to abandon him without a single word, then maybe, _just maybe,_ he was now calm enough to conceal his hate and hurt.

So she did not answer, but rather fixed her eyes on the stone floor and strode for the dais. As she passed him by, she could feel the fury that was emanating from him, and the wordless challenge for her to look at him. But her will would not be bent, not even when he was at arm's reach and she thought she would _die_ if she held back now... _I am warrior's daughter, as enduring as the Sea..._

Then she was before the dais, and she looked up again. There stood Wormtongue, and his pale eyes were fast scrutinising this scene. Meanwhile, Théoden King seemed mostly disinterested. Next to the throne stood a woman she had not seen before – tall and fair, with long hair of pale gold. She was clad in white and gold and the look in her eyes was as cold as the colour she wore. Though brother and sister did not resemble each other strikingly, except perhaps in their height and in how impressive both their physical presences were, Lothíriel knew right away this was Lady Éowyn. The fair-haired woman was looking at her like she had just proved all her doubts and suspicions to be true. Lothíriel could only imagine what was going through the White Lady's mind now, and she remembered what Éomer had said about his sister. Éowyn had thought it was dangerous for him to protect her, and here she was, showing just how right that fear had been!

"You requested my presence, my lord?" the princess asked and made a little curtsy – not the most graceful she could have offered, but Daerien wasn't supposed to be the finest of ladies.

"This man here, called the Third Marshal, has demanded to see you, Daerien", Wormtongue stated, shifting his gaze to her now.

"Why would he? I have nothing to say to him", Lothíriel said, striving for airless indefference. It took all her focus, and all her willpower, to be able to keep this act together. One miss-step, and it would all fall apart.

"Daerien, I'm taking you back home", Éomer spoke harshly before Wormtongue could say anything.

"There you have it. The man thinks you wish to accompany him back to Aldburg", said the King's advisor, making it sound like Éomer had used some barbarian tongue, hardly understandable to civilized folk. She could only imagine how her lover was staying calm at this point, as she was sure he had not missed the thorn in his enemy's words.

"Lord, has the King decreed his decision? I will go nowhere without his leave. And even with it, my home is not Aldburg. My return to my real home in Gondor is long over due, for it is clear I don't belong here. Surely Théoden King will agree?" she stated firmly. Her hands were itching to flex and fidget, but she kept them loosely clasped before herself, just as she held her shoulders relaxed. Yet it was strain to stand like so and pretend that her life was not breaking into million pieces this very moment... like she was not breaking it by her own words. Surely, when this was over, every muscle in her body would go into a cramp, and her heart would cease to beat.

"And what of your father and the marriage he had planned for you?" Wormtongue inquired, and she guessed it was more out of idle curiosity than real interest. Or, perhaps he hoped her words would achieve further dismay to Éomer.

"But my lord, you misunderstand! They have no power over me now. The moment they try to make me do anything, I'll have their names dragged through the gutter. Their business partners would just love it! They would be the laughing stock of the entire city! Some of them regard Rohirrim little more than savages, and for them to let a daughter of a betrothed go dallying with horsemasters is unthinkable. Oh, the stories I could tell! With half a word I could put my family to shame for generations!" she said and laughed, adding once more that little toss of hair into it. Was it enough? Had she severed their ties, or did she need to say more? Lothíriel hoped she didn't, as even her control had its limits. And right now she didn't know how much longer she could go on.

But perhaps this was enough indeed. She could feel his eyes on her, the burning stare that was demanding her to look at him... oh, Elbereth! How she wanted to turn, let him know this was all but a ruse! But though it broke her heart, she stood still, refusing him that moment of mercy which might have healed the betrayal.

 _Don't look at him,_ she insisted herself. _Don't look, even if it kills you._

One moment more Wormtongue's gaze lingered on her. She thought he looked at her like men regard some idle amusement that has already served its purpose and can offer nothing more. Then he spoke at last: "Escort Mistress Daerien to one of the guest houses. She will remain there for the time being."

A guard standing behind her right shoulder touched lightly her arm, and she turned, somehow willing her muscles into moving. How much longer now she would be able to keep up this charade, she didn't know. Even so, she dared to hope she had succeeded, in a fashion. At the very least she had made herself irrelevant in the eyes of Gríma Wormtongue.

And then she passed by Éomer. He stood quiet and still, and she knew his eyes were fixed on her. But where his stare had always caused a thrilling sensation before, now it only felt cold and resentful. She couldn't feel dismayed, though – this was what she had tried to achieve. One moment there was, when her eyes accidentally glimpsed his hand, tightly pressed into a fist, and she nearly lifted her own to grasp it as a farewell of sorts. But she had that urge quickly under control, and the only goodbye she could have was in her thoughts.

 _Be safe, my love._

Somehow she was able to walk all the way from the Hall and to the guest houses. Lothíriel barely noticed her surroundings, and she did not particularly care about it either. At the doorway, the two guards left her, and they both looked at her like they thought her something revolting. However, at this point such couldn't possibly bother her, and she simply muttered thanks to them before they turned and left.

At last, she was left alone. There was a howl, building up at the back of her throat, tearing at her in its struggle to get out. But she gritted her teeth against agony and dug her nails into the wooden panel of the doorway until her fingers were dripping with blood.

* * *

Lothiriel did not expect to see anyone else that day. As far as Wormtongue went, she had served her purpose, and for Éomer there was no reason now to come to her – even if she briefly grasped to the idea that he would storm here and demand her to tell him the truth. And she would indeed explain everything, and they would both be so relieved, and he would kiss her hard and long until she saw stars. But he did not come, and she sat in dark forgetfulness, and her heart was sick and weary.

Some time later – hours, or years? – there was a soft rapping sound at the door, and monotonously she uttered the invitation to step in. At the moment, it could have been the Dark Lord himself and she would not have cared.

Instead, Brithwen stood at the doorway, looking very grave and startled. Some still working part of Lothíriel's reason made the observation this should make her uneasy, but she couldn't muster emotional energy to really feel anything besides the numbness that had fallen on her.

"What is it?" she asked at length, though she couldn't imagine a situation that would require the Shieldmaiden to come here. Lothíriel had rather thought Brithwen had got what she had wanted, getting her out of way for good and thus ensuring Éomer would be receptive to her comfort.

"There are some bad news", Brithwen said, her voice choked with something Lothíriel was not able to name.

"Bad news? About what?" Lothíriel asked, and then the worst possible idea occurred to her, "Is it about Éomer?"

"Aye", said the Shieldmaiden and hesitated for a second. She cleared her throat, and spoke those terrible words, "He has been arrested. He threatened Wormtongue, even went as far as drawing his sword before the King. And that snake gave the command to imprison him!"

Lothíriel felt dizzy. Had she been standing, she was sure her legs would have just given in under her, and each intake of breath felt like daggers were being driven through her. Nausea had her stomach turning around, and it was only with great effort that she could hold back the bile. All that pain and agony for nothing! How she had tried and tried, sacrificing that which she held most dear, and it was for nothing! Éomer was imprisoned, Théodred was dead, and the King of the Mark was nothing more than a puppet for a wicked man who would run this land into ruin!

And there was nothing she could do.

She bowed her head, too tired to fight back her tears anymore, and so she wept quietly as the full horror of today's events ached in her mind. What else could it all mean, except the beginning of the end? With Éomer behind bars, there was no one left who could save them, no one who might stand a chance against the forces of shadow.

Brithwen came to stand next to her, and the Shieldmaiden lay a hand on her shoulder in an awkward little attempt of comfort.

"I will talk to Lord Elfhelm and ask him if he could spare a few men to escort you back to Gondor", said the auburn-haired woman softly. When Lothíriel said nothing, she sighed and spoke again, "I'm sorry about everything. I truly am."

The princess remained silent. She felt nothing at the prospect of going back to Gondor, nor did she care to wonder if such would be possible. What did it matter now?

"Do you need anything, Lady Princess?" Brithwen asked then, but Lothíriel shook her head.

"I would like to be alone", she said, and somehow she was able to keep her voice steady. Yet the truth was she did not want to be alone any more than she wanted company. For hours expanded before her long and empty, but on the other hand who could she possibly ask to stay with her? While Brithwen had showed her more sympathy during past two days than she had ever thought possible, right now she couldn't bear to see the face of the Shieldmaiden.

"Very well", Brithwen said and pulled back her hand. Once she was at the door, she glanced at Lothíriel once more, "I'll let you know if anything new turns up."

The dark-haired woman made a vague noise in agreement. Then the Shieldmaiden was gone, and Lothíriel was alone. Here, in the capital of the Riddermark and confined in this guest house, she felt once more that vast, bitter loneliness as she had experienced on the great plains of this land... but there would be no salvation from this. All she could do was wait for the doom of Rohan to fall.

* * *

The world was finally starting to fall apart. Not that it surprised Éomer: this had been the constant threat all his adult life. It was the truth they had been fighting against sword and shield, hoping to buy more time and to save as many lives as they could. Yet in his heart, there had long been the quiet foreboding that the decisive battle of this struggle would be during his lifetime, and he would either see the world of Men renewed, or fall into darkness. Past two days had brought some hope for the former, but he was more inclined to believe the latter should take place. And then, he decided, he'd rather burn than live as a slave in Shadow.

Strange as that was, there was a measure of comfort even now: Wormtongue had been cast down and Théoden his uncle had risen again, resembling his old self once more. And now, at this eleventh hour, the King of the Mark had finally decided to ride to war against Isengard. Whether it was too late remained yet to be seen, but Éomer knew it didn't matter what he thought or hoped. He had got back his uncle and king, and he would have followed the Lord of the Mark to certain death a hundred times.

But before war, there was still one unpleasant task waiting for him. And so, as the preparations were made in haste and men mustered to ride, Éomer sought out Lord Elfhelm. A Marshal in all but name, the older Rider would be stay behind and defend Edoras under Éowyn's command. He was a seasoned warrior and a capable captain, and there was no one more qualified to guard the capital in the King's absence. But it was also a bitter lot, especially if things went badly in Helm's Deep. For if the Hornburg fell, then nothing would stand between the armies of Isengard and the heart of the Riddermark.

However, Elfhelm's face betrayed no despair when he stood before the King's heir. He had looked death into the eye many times, and he would defend Edoras to the last if it came to that.

"You wished to talk to me, Lord Éomer?" Elfhelm asked, sounding far more formal than he ever had before. But a lot of people did, or so the younger Rider had noticed. He guessed it had to do with his renewed and elevated position as the King's heir.

"Aye, I did", Éomer said and tried to swallow the lump that had somehow appeared in his throat. He had dreaded this conversation in advance, as the wounds were still too fresh. But if he was riding to his death... well, honour bound him to do at least this much.

He cleared his throat and spoke again, "Are you aware of the presence of one Daerien here in Edoras?"

"The Gondorian girl who was pretending to be Dunlending? Aye, I have heard of her", Elfhelm answered, his words much more delicately chosen than Éomer had expected.

"However ill-judged it was, I had given her my word I would protect her, and let her stay at my household. Since then, she has repented of her decision to take up my offer – she wishes to go home now. But we both know it's a long and dangerous journey, and neither of us have the men to spare for such escort", Éomer started, struggling to keep his voice firm and collected. It was not easy to talk about her, but there was no choice. He needed to do this.

"What do you want me to do, then?" Elfhelm asked, his voice betraying only the barest hint of sympathy. Somehow, it made this even worse.

"As you know, I'm riding with the King to Helm's Deep. I cannot see to the girl's safety now. That's why I ask if you could send a few men with her, to take her back to Aldburg. I... I believe it's a better place for her than Edoras. She has friends there, and a lesser likelihood of Éowyn using her as a target practice", Éomer said, forcing himself to meet Elfhelm's eyes. He managed not to grimace when he thought of how his sister had reacted to his lover's betrayal... he had never guessed Éowyn's vocabulary was so colourful or so vicious. Nevertheless, he was thankful to her, because she had not said _"I told you so"._ His sister knew now was not the time to twist the knife in the wound.

"Very well. I will see to it, old friend", Elfhelm said solemnly. He reached for the younger man's shoulder and held it for a moment as warriors would. His tone was steady and quiet, "Best of luck, Éomer. May Béma keep you in this storm to come."

"Thank you, Elfhelm. Good luck to you as well", said the younger man. There was some relief in knowing _she_ would be moderately safe. He would keep his end of the deal, even if Éowyn had told him it was well within his rights to tell her to go where the sun didn't shine. After all, she had effectively delivered herself into the hands of Wormtongue in the worst possible time, renounced Éomer like a dress she had grown tired of, and then humiliated him before the court like it was all very amusing to her. She was two-faced, deceitful thing and he had been a complete fool to let her use him to her heart's contentment. And in the end, she had refused to even look at him!

But no matter what Éowyn had said, Éomer intended to keep his promise until the end... though that end might be closer than any of them had guessed. As Elfhelm took his leave, Éomer made his way outside. The courtyard was alive with noise and bustle as horses were prepared and war-gear was secured. Some of these men would never return to Edoras.

 _There's still a chance._ Éomer's eyes fixed on the small guest house, where he knew _she_ was staying at. He could go and bid her his final farewell... he didn't expect to see her again after he left Edoras today. Even if they returned alive from Helm's Deep, she would be gone. And uncle would be needing him here in the capital – there was much Éomer would have to learn before he was ready to be king. The sheer idea was ludicrous, but it was his reality now.

However, he knew he wouldn't be able to bear the sight of her now. _Soft and warm and so lovely..._ he remembered the scent of her skin, the supple yielding of her body against his, and the memory made him dizzy with agony. At once, he knew what a bad idea it would be to go to her now. She knew how to play him, knew just which strings to pull. For better or worse, he couldn't resist her. One look into her eyes and he would fall right back under her spell, and even knowing what he knew now would not help him to untangle himself.

He shook his head and felt again that blasted lump in his throat. What a fool he had been... a blind, hapless fool, trusting a deceitful woman like he was some green boy! _But she made it feel so_ _ **real.**_

Éomer gritted his teeth and closed his eyes briefly. Of course she had made it feel real – she was a masterful pretender. For months, she had fooled everyone she came across, making them believe exactly what she wanted. Béma, not even Wormtongue had seen through her lie! Why should he think she would regard _him_ any different from the rest of them? That was what he had not seen before now: layers upon layers of disguises was the only truth about her.

Swiftly he turned around, suppressing an urge to ask one of the Doorwards to kick him. There was no sense in tormenting himself any more, and he couldn't shadow this road before him with any more bitterness than he already felt. Théoden needed him now, needed him sharp and clear-headed, and he couldn't be wasting his time brooding over a broken heart.

And yet, as far as he was concerned, the battle couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

That day, war had come to Edoras.

It wasn't that this came as a surprise. This shadow had long loomed over the Mark, growing ever darker and deadlier. Lothíriel knew Éomer had wanted to ride against Isengard many weeks ago already, but despite his attempts, Théoden had not agreed. This morning his wish was coming true.

She had hard time believing all these strange tidings. First, Brithwen had appeared at her door, wild-eyed and overwrought with the fresh news from Meduseld. It all sounded almost too good to be true: the Wizard Gandalf had arrived in Edoras, along with three strange companions. They had entered the Golden Hall, where Gandalf had spoken to Théoden King and released him from Wormtongue's influence. Then the twisted advisor had been cast down from his position, Éomer had been restored to his rightful place as the King's lieutenant and heir, and now Théoden was planning to go to war!

All this had renewed Lothíriel's hope as well, and she had thought maybe she could go and fix things with her beloved, and tell him what had happened. However, the response she received at the doors of Meduseld was as unrelenting as it was cold: the Doorwards had forbidden her from entering. A foreigner such as her had no business there, especially when Théoden had not yet seen to her case or decided what to do with her. And right now, she knew she was about the last thing Théoden could possibly spare his time for.

But even knowing this, she had pleaded and persuaded and bargained, going as far as trying her charm on the Doorwards. However, each of her attempts was thwarted with the same, stern words: Lord Éomer was in war council with the King and Gandalf the Grey, and if she didn't return to her guest house _now,_ she would be spending the night in a cell. Grudgingly she had given up and let herself be escorted back to her lodgings. It wasn't that she didn't know she was the least of Éomer's concerns right now. It was just... she would just have liked to apologise, explain everything to him, and tell him to be careful. The possibility he wouldn't return was all too real, and she didn't want him doing anything reckless because of his hurt and anger.

So, she settled to sit on the steps of her guest house. Éomer would have to come out of Meduseld sooner or later, didn't he? And she would just have to be quick enough... worrying her lip, she gazed at the twin doors of the Golden Hall, wishing him to appear. _I can't let him go like this. I can't let him leave thinking I don't love him._

She wrapped arms about herself, shivering as she tried not to think of the worst possible outcome. What if Éomer did not return? What if this truly was the end? Orcs hacking at the gates of Edoras, sweeping through the capital and killing everything on their way, and flames rising higher and higher as this beautiful place burned... her hands became fists and once more Lothíriel wished she could have taken up a sword as well. Had she been someone strong, someone like Brithwen, maybe none of this would ever have happened.

Looking up from the ground, Lothíriel saw the stablehands bringing out Firefoot, Éomer's own stallion. She sprang to her feet at the sight of the horse, and made quickly for the Hall again. Maybe this meant the company was riding out soon? There was still a chance...

However, her way was cut once more at the foot of the steps leading to the Golden Hall. There two green-mantled guards stopped her, placing their tall spears before her.

"Girl, this is the last time. If you will not obey, you _will_ go to the cells", said one of the guards.

"Please", she begged, looking from one man to the other and searching for their eyes, "Please, let me pass. I need to see Lord Éomer. Let me go and tell him goodbye. This could be my only chance to talk to him."

"I'm afraid it's not possible. Lord Marshal has commanded to keep you away", came the answer, and hearing it, Lothíriel felt like someone had just punched her. He didn't want to see her! But how could she blame him, when he had reacted the exact way she had hoped?

"Can you at least take a message to him?" she asked softly. Once more her eyes were drawn to the doors of the Hall, and she wished so badly to see him there... if only she could catch his eyes, then maybe he would see the truth on her face? Maybe he'd understand the show before Wormtongue hadn't been real?

"He has better things to do, girl. Don't you realise what is happening here?" asked the second guard, staring at her as if he thought her a particularly demented individual.

Her shoulders fell and she lowered her eyes. A sick sensation turned in her stomach, and for a second she thought she might throw up. Somehow she got her feet moving, and she turned away without another word. Like a sleepwalker, she returned to where she had been sitting before, waiting for... she wasn't even sure anymore.

And then the courtyard became alive once more. Riders were mounting their horses, air filled with their shouts and the neighing of their steeds, and the twin doors of Meduseld were pushed open. There, at the other side of the sea of men and animals, she saw _him._ He was in his full armour again, and he carried his horsetail helmet in one hand. She leaped on her feet and tried to catch his eyes, but he was talking to the man he was closely following... the change was so drastic she didn't almost recognise this man.

Suddenly, the realisation hit her. Théoden King! There he strode, straight and proud, no longer a frail, bent old man. And behind them, she glimpsed those strangers Brithwen had mentioned: the tall Man, the Elf, and the Dwarf. In any other situation she would have been fascinated by seeing such an unlikely company, but now her attention was solely given to Éomer. If she couldn't get him to look at her now...

Once more she tried to get to him, but the courtyard was thickly packed between them, and there were not just horses and Riders but their families as well; the only way she might have reached the other side was if she had been able to fly. Panic threatened to rise as she attempted to find a way around the crowd and saw Éomer mounting his horse, waiting by the side of his king... wind caught in the folds of the royal banner, spreading the green and the white, and the air was charged with tension and fear and _hope._ The King of the Mark was riding again.

Lady Éowyn came, tall and pale and fair, and she offered a cup to the King – he drank deeply to sign his leaving. Lothíriel tried to dive from between two horses, but the animals side-stepped anxiously, forcing her back. It wouldn't be of much use if she managed to get herself kicked by a horse, and desperately she tried to find another way around the masses.

The horn was blown and the King's horse started forward. Beside him rode Éomer, tall and stern and wonderful, just as he had once been on those plains when she had first seen him with her waking eyes...

"Éomer! Éomer!" she cried, knowing it was already too late, but maybe if he just heard her, if he just looked at her now... he would know, wouldn't he? She had given her heart to him, just as well as her body – he _knew_ the real her! And even if there was no chance now to talk, then at least this one look would bother him! He wouldn't be riding to war and thinking she wasn't waiting for him! It would drive him, it would get him through the battle, because he would want to find out the truth!

He turned his head ever so slightly, as though he had heard her calling his name... but not enough to search for her in the crowd. For a second, it seemed like he was hesitating between looking and riding on.

 _Look at me. Look at me now!_ she thought desperately, as though she could will him into fully turning and seeing her. _Don't leave like this!_

The moment passed. Éomer urged his horse to move again, catching up to the side of his uncle. Down the hill they went, riding, riding, hastening to meet what could be their fate. Then he was gone, perhaps forever, and before she knew it her feet buckled under her.

Éomer was gone.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** *leaves this here and takes cover*

We are now in full angst mode, my dear readers! I must admit, this part of the story wasn't originally this depressing - in the original draft, Lothíriel didn't join forces with Brithwen in order to fool both Éomer and Wormtongue. But when I came up with the second version (which I eventually chose as the way to go), I also began to feel it wasn't so plausible that Lothíriel would be able to avoid getting into trouble with Wormtongue if she came to Edoras, nor would she fail to realise this. She is aware there's a chance her attempt won't make a difference, but I think she would try anyway, and at the very least she'd try to make herself insignificant in Wormtongue's eyes. Which she succeeds in, though it's with a rather devastating cost, as now Éomer is convinced she has been lying and manipulating him from the start. And as she doesn't know about Gandalf or the Three Hunters, she doesn't come up with some idea of playing time, but immediately goes for this more drastic course of action. Time really wasn't on her and Éomer's side!

The bit about Lothíriel gripping the door frame is inspired by Tolkien himself. In the story of Túrin Turambar, when he's sent away to live as a ward of Thingol of Doriath, his mother Morwen Eledhwen grips the door frame of their home in agony and to keep from weeping at his son's departure. While Túrin Turambar was never my favourite among Tolkien's heroes, that particular instance always stood out to me as striking and heartbreaking. And if you want to get symbolic with this chapter, you could compare Lothíriel's bleeding fingers to those of Éomer, when he grips the necklace he had given to her.

Thanks for reading and reviewing! All your comments are hugely appreciated!

* * *

 **Woman of Letters -** Oh, it's bad indeed! This means rather serious heartbreak to them both.

 **berry-cool -** I'm afraid it's not getting any better!

 **UntilNeverDawns -** Then I'm glad to hear I managed to surprise you! But yes, war means very serious changes for them!

 **Tibblets -** Aragorn or Gandalf might have noticed something off about her, but unfortunately, they don't get to meet one another. Due to timeline and Lothíriel's position, she isn't able to meet them before they have already left.

 **sailor68 -** I hope the confrontation was to your liking! :)

 **pbbalboa -** I just love writing cliffhangers, sorry! :D

 **EStrunk -** And it's not getting better! I must admit, it surprised even myself how angsty this got. Unfortunately, she had just the time to do the damage, but not to mend it!

 **Anon -** I seem to have delivered that wish at least partly!

 **Hobbitpony1 -** I don't think they really understood what they were doing! But Brithwen comes around quickly enough, and I think it's only just started to dawn to her how thoughtless her actions were.

 **Madam X -** He's not happy at all!

 **Rinarwen -** Her little feat was rather unfortunate indeed! I'm glad you liked the chapter. :)

 **notyetanotheralias -** Oh dear! Well, it's not getting any better...

 **Anon -** Considering my chapters are usually +6000 words and often close to 9000, I'm afraid asking me to quickly write 5 chapters is a rather unreasonable demand. I have my real life as well.

 **meldisil -** We don't see them really, only hear them mentioned! Mostly because I don't have that much to add to the canon, and Lothíriel didn't get a chance to see them up close.

 **Anon -** It seems like there won't be making up now!


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

They returned to Aldburg late at night.

Of the hours between Éomer's departure and the first glimpse of the lights of the town she had come to consider her second home, Lothíriel could only recall bits and pieces. There was the face of one tall Rider, telling her Éomer had given orders to take her back to Aldburg. Then there was Lady Éowyn, glaring at her like the woman thought better of orcs than of her, and talking so fast the princess couldn't follow. But then Brithwen had appeared as though from nowhere, snapped angrily at the White Lady, and dragged Lothíriel away. Someone had put her on a horse, and they had started for the road to Aldburg.

She had thrown up twice during the journey.

When they reached the courtyard of the Marshal's Hall, Lothíriel felt slightly more aware than ever since the moment _he_ had disappeared from her sight. But she was exhausted to the bone, too. All she wanted was to lay down and sleep, just sleep so long that when she woke up, Éomer would be next to her. But it was a silly notion, she thought grimly as she tried to get down. Her limbs were stiff and weary from the long ride, but luckily one of her escorts came to help her on the ground. Brithwen was there as well, looking very grave.

"Will you be all right?" asked the Shieldmaiden quietly, lifting a hand as though wanting to pat her shoulder in a comforting gesture, but she hesitated and put it back down. How odd it was to hear this woman asking such questions of her! She had thought they would never reconcile.

"I'm fine, Brithwen. Don't worry about me", Lothíriel answered and pushed her hands into her armpits. When had her fingers got so cold? "Go home. I'm sure your siblings are anxious to see you."

Brithwen didn't seem convinced, but the princess was too tired to make more effort. So she bid good night to the other woman and headed for the Hall. She grimaced as some life flowed back to her stiff, cold limbs; she felt like an old woman as she walked.

At the doors, she passed by Athilda. She could feel the chatelaine's eyes on her, but she didn't meet that gaze – she had no spirit left to deal with the sour woman.

The Marshal's Hall was still the same. The walls stood as they ever had, low fire was burning in the fireplace, and there was a clean, wholesome smell in the air. Only now did she realise how dear it had become to her and the ache that had been in her chest ever since Edoras threatened to grow into pounding pain. Lothíriel swallowed and trudged on, making her way towards the servants' quarters. She had business sleeping in Éomer's bed now.

At the door of the chamber she had shared with her servant friends, Lothíriel had to stop and take a deep breath. She didn't know if any news had reached them yet, and how they would receive her. Chances were she would start to sob the moment she tried to say anything.

She stepped inside.

Aengifu, Saethryd and Derehild had not yet gone to sleep. They sat on their bedrolls, talking quietly and combing their hair, when she entered. All three looked up in surprise. Much shrieking followed and plenty of hugs, up until Derehild raised her voice over the commotion: "Calm down, you silly geese! Don't you see she's about to collapse?"

"Daerien, you feel so cold! Let's get you warm!" Aengifu fussed about her, and before she knew it, Lothíriel was seated on her bedroll, she had no less than three blankets on her shoulders, and Saethryd had carefully poured her a small drink of Rohirric liquor.

"This will warm you up in no time", she said; knowing the potency of the drink, Lothíriel swallowed it in one go and welcomed the burning sensation it left behind. Indeed, soon enough warmth began to spread even to her fingertips. Meanwhile, the girls filled the quiet with their talk.

"We wanted to ride to Edoras for you. We would have talked to the King in your favour and asked him to pardon you. But the Lord Marshal's steward, that old man Frithestan, told us to stay put", Saethryd said, frowning as she spoke.

"He said it would be too dangerous for us, and Wulfgar agreed... they thought Wormtongue would probably take advantage of it – blame us of being your accomplices. He is said to be sly and cunning with words, so he would probably have turned our attempt to help into a weapon against you and the Marshal. After all, we are servants of Lord Éomer's own household, and he was in not great favour at the time", Derehild added. Thankfully, a Rider had been sent from the capital at the time of the King's departure for Helm's Deep, and so the newest tidings should be common knowledge in the Hall at least. Lothíriel knew in her current state, she wouldn't have been able to coherently explain what had happened back in Edoras..

"They were right. You shouldn't endanger yourself for me", she said quietly, staring down at the empty cup in her hands and thought of how nice it would have been to get so drunk she wouldn't even know her own name. Truth was, she didn't think she could have endured it if her friends here had somehow been drawn into that horrible chain of events which had destroyed all that she had hoped and dreamed.

"But what of you, Daerien? What happened to you when you were there? How were you able to get back?" Aengifu asked when she and the other girls had deemed their friend was slightly recovered.

Lothíriel sat silent. She wanted to tell them everything, from the very night she had stepped in her father's study and seen Lord Denethor there... all of that seemed like a lifetime ago, and she was _tired._ Her tongue formed no words, not beyond the uttered, "Éomer is gone."

"What do you mean? Did something happen to him?" Saethryd asked in concern.

"No. He went with the King", said the princess and closed her eyes. She felt sick again, thinking of the man she loved and was like never to see again.

"It's all right. He'll be back, Daerien. He's a great warrior", Aengifu comforted her, patting her shoulder.

"I think maybe we should let her rest. She's exhausted", Derehild intervened then, gently prying the cup from Lothíriel's hand. She didn't resist when they helped her out of her dirty clothes and tucked her in; it made her feel like a helpless little child, but right now she didn't have it in her to protest. When she was curled up under blankets, Derehild lingered briefly by her side. The golden-haired young woman gently stroked her hair, murmured something along the line of _"it will be all right",_ and then told her to sleep. Lothíriel followed with this advice gladly, and she was grateful to have no dreams that night.

* * *

Had Lothíriel been in a more coherent state of mind during the journey back to Aldburg, she would probably have been worried about what news the people of the town had received, and what would happen once she returned. But at the time she had been too much in shock to really care about anything, and so she plunged back to her life in Aldburg blind and unprepared.

Tidings of the events back in Edoras had indeed come, and it was now known that she was in fact from Gondor, and that she had behaved like a woman of questionable virtue would. However, it came as a slight surprise to see how few people judged her for that.

"Well, everybody in Aldburg knows you were taken to Edoras against your will, and people here never had much love for Wormtongue. We know you were trying to fool him", Aengifu simply said when Lothíriel had explained to her friends what had taken place. She reached to pat the dark-haired woman's forearm, "You have a solid reputation here, Daerien. And not a single person in Aldburg, if they have seen you with Lord Éomer, would ever have believed whatever show you put up in Edoras."

"Too bad he believed it so well", Lothíriel muttered and looked down.

"He doesn't know you were taken to Edoras forcibly. And I think we can agree the man has a lot on his mind, serving as a lieutenant in war and being dropped with the title of the heir on his head. If we were not at war, things would probably have turned out very differently", Derehild pointed out. This made sense to the princess, and in the quiet of her thoughts, she hoped perhaps Éomer would figure it out when the situation had calmed... if he got to live that long, of course.

But even if most of the folk of Aldburg seemed to prove true what Aengifu and Derehild had told her, there were a couple of cases who were not so convinced. Two days after their return, one man left in the Hall with guarding duties approached her, and before she even knew it his hands were on her, touching her in ways only Éomer had touched her until now. Due to her generally warped mood, Lothíriel immediately burst in tears, which seemed to confuse him long enough for Saethryd to arrive and chase him away with her broom. The second time it was a stablehand in the courtyard, but she threw up on his boots, and after that she was left alone. And soon she heard Brithwen had spread the word Lothíriel had indeed been the wronged party and the whole affair was her and Athilda's fault, there was no more talk on whether Daerien was the kind of woman her actions in Edoras would imply. Some even went as far as saying Athilda had always been too hard on her, and that the chatelaine's actions had been ill-judged, causing more strife in a time that already was full of troubled tidings.

And yet though the days were dark and evil, the hours kept passing, and days followed one another – as though the world hadn't gone mad. Nevertheless progression of minutes often felt like a slow torment to Lothíriel, a crawling movement towards the unknown.

In Aldburg, most things went by as before, and Athilda insisted the Hall would continue it's ordinary, everyday life. However, it was common knowledge that Frithestan, Éomer's steward who had been left in charge of the town, was constantly prepared to start to evacuate the women and children to the White Mountains. It seemed like each and every soul in the town were holding their breath, waiting for any tidings from Gondor.

Past days had indeed been full of many strange news. Against all odds, Théoden King had been victorious in Helm's Deep, and there were wondrous stories about moving trees and Halflings and wizards and the nameless shadow passing over the land with terror – even the most unthinkable had happened. The Wizard Saruman had been utterly defeated and all his terrible armies, so feared before the battle before the walls of the Hornburg, were destroyed. However, before the dust had settled, there was already talk of new battles, and judging by the news that were now going around in Aldburg, it was much, much worse than Helm's Deep. It wasn't like Lothíriel would particularly have wanted to see the ruin and devastation that had taken place before the walls of the Hornburg, but a part of her regretted deeply that she hadn't been present – she would have wanted to be there when Éomer returned from battle, be that warmth and consolation she knew he craved after such a fight... and send him on his way, when he rode with his king to Dunharrow. In her heart there was a constant ache when she thought she had not properly told him goodbye, or let him know how much she loved him. Now he was gone, thinking she considered him nothing but an entertainment to fill the long hours of her exile.

And the call to war had come to Éomer's home as well, and éoreds were mustered in haste: all who could ride were required to answer the King's summons. With an aching heart, Lothíriel had watched the tearful goodbyes that took place all over the town, and she had wondered how many of these Riders would never return to their families.

One of them also came to say goodbye to Lothíriel, much to her surprise. For on that morning when the Riders of Aldburg were set to leave for Dunharrow, she was stopped in the courtyard of the Hall by none else than Brithwen.

The Shieldmaiden was clad in hauberk and sturdy leather jerkin, and a Rider's cloak flowed down her shoulders. On her side, a sword rested, its polished pommel shimmering in morning's light. Such a vision was foreign to Lothíriel, even after these many months. _I need to introduce her to Amrothos, or he'll never believe me._

"May I speak to you?" asked Brithwen in a soft, wary voice. Lothíriel hadn't seen her since the night they had returned from Aldburg, and though their most recent interactions had been far more civil than she had ever imagined possible, there was still uneasiness in the air between them.

"Of course", Lothíriel said, lowering the bucket she had been carrying. At this point, she really didn't care about Athilda anymore, and she was long past trying to appease the woman who would never relent to her. So she looked at the warrior woman, "You are riding to war? What about your siblings and your tavern?"

"Aye, that I am", Brithwen answered, resting her hand on the hilt of her sword. With a faint smile, she went on, "My cousin has agreed to look after them. And my staff is fairly competent. They know she won't hesitate to kick them around if they don't take care of my business while I'm gone."

There was a steady belief in the future in Brithwen's words, like she was convinced she would indeed ride all the way to Gondor and return safe and sound. The dark-haired woman knew it was something she could learn from, as she had not felt much hope since the day Éomer had ridden for Helm's Deep. After all, what did she have to complain about? She was safe here in Aldburg, while Brithwen would be riding to meet unimaginable horrors. with nothing else to guard herself than her own skill and strength.

The Shieldmaiden cleared her throat and looked seriously at Lothíriel, "I never apologised properly for what we did to you. It was an ill thing and I wish I could take it back."

"What has been done can't be changed", Lothíriel answered stiffly, "but I accept your apology."

Brithwen stood before her and hesitated for a while. But when she spoke again, her voice was deep and intense, and her face was alive with some strange emotion.

"You were right, lady. It wasn't an act of love I was doing – I wasn't trying to stop Éomer from making a bad decision. I was angry and hateful and I wanted revenge. I realised that when I told him that story we made up to fool him and Wormtongue. When I gave him that necklace, he was... I had never seen such pain on his face. And it was my fault!" Brithwen said, frowning as she spoke. She shook her head then, and grew more resolute, "I'll make amends, lady. I'll fix this, even if it's the last thing I do. I'll find him as soon as I can and explain everything to him. I see how it is now – it won't make me happy if we're both miserable for the rest of our lives. But by making things right I can prove that I loved him enough to let him go."

Lothíriel stood speechless, but Brithwen smiled slightly. Then the Shieldmaiden reached to give her an awkward one-armed hug, which left her even more bewildered.

"Don't worry about a thing, lady. Once he comes home, he'll be begging for your forgiveness!" she reassured her.

Somehow, the princess was able to smile at the other woman.

"Good luck, Brithwen. Béma keep you on your road", she said softly.

"And you, lady", Brithwen answered. She shook herself then, and looked around in the courtyard. "I best get going. We are departing soon, and I must bid farewell to my siblings."

And with that, the Shieldmaiden was gone. Whether she would have a chance of finding Éomer and talking with him, Lothíriel couldn't say. Would they even get that far? As the King's most important lieutenant and heir, he might be too busy to talk with Brithwen. Would he want to listen to his former mistress, knowing the part she had played in the events? And what did any of it guarantee? Éomer was riding to a terrible war, and it was all too possible he would not return. The possibility that he was going to his death, thinking she had never loved him... that was bad enough. But then there were her brothers and father, whom she had not bid farewell properly. There was no way they wouldn't be fighting as well. Almost everyone she loved was under the shadow of death and there was nothing she could do. No wonder she couldn't eat, couldn't sleep.

As for Athilda, the woman had gone back to her total indifference of before, and most times she didn't even bother looking at Lothíriel. Whether she was disappointed that her and Brithwen's scheme hadn't worked, one could not say. Even so, every time she saw the chatelaine, Lothíriel could not help but feel a wave of bitterness. If the full story ever reached Éomer's ears, he would no doubt deal with the chatelaine according to her crime, but as of now Lothíriel had no choice but to live with the knowledge Athilda might just go unpunished.

The only good thing that remained, it seemed to her, was her friends. For this small grace Lothíriel was immensely grateful, as she knew she wouldn't have got through those first painful days after she had returned from Edoras. Their support even endured hearing a part of the truth: she told them she had nothing to do with Dunlendings or the Dúnedain of the North. But she still kept her true identity a secret. As far as she could see, the three young women were not overly offended by the knowledge she had been lying all this time. and Lothíriel guessed it was because they had seen how she had been on the night of her return. But at times Derehild would give her a thoughtful look, and she wondered if the golden-haired woman guessed there was more behind the small portion of truth, and something similar was in Saethryd's eyes. While keeping her identity a secret was not such a necessity now that Wormtongue was no more a threat, Lothíriel still held on to it. This was not the time for such tidings, and her heart was sick and weary. All she wanted was to be left alone and trudge through the long hours, seeking for some normalcy in the middle of all this war and death.

For better or for worse, days passed, and people of the Mark waited.

* * *

"You have to eat something, dear."

The voice of Aengifu, spoken so close by and with such concern that Lothíriel realised it was her she was addressing. She had been lost in her thoughts, staring at the untouched portion before her – she had spoon in one hand, but she had yet to dip into the food and start eating.

Aengifu's hand was gentle on her shoulder, but careful too, like she thought the dark-haired woman breakable.

"I'm not really hungry. And what's the point when I'm going to throw it up anyway?" Lothíriel asked, trying to add some wry humour to her tone, but not succeeding in the slightest. And she knew the joke was lame in any case – it would have been so even if she hadn't been suffering from daily bouts of sickness ever since Edoras. Best she could figure, her body was as much in shock as her mind was.

"Well, at least porridge is more easy to throw up than just spitting out bile", her friend tried desperately now. "You're going to get sick if you don't eat."

The princess did not answer at first. She knew her friend was right, and her lack of appetite was already starting to show: her cheeks were more hollow and when she bathed, she could feel her ribs growing more and more pronounced against her skin. So, bracing herself against the revolting feeling that was sure to appear, she dipped her spoon in the food and slowly brought a tiny amount of the already lukewarm dish into her mouth. The taste was off, making her stomach turn, but she knew Aengifu was watching her. So she forced herself to swallow the spoonful and repeated the motion, albeit slowly.

Around her, the other servants were chatting away, as they always did. But instead of the ordinary gossip, they were talking about war. Everyone was going on about it these days, from the old wives who wondered if their sons would ever return, to the games of the little ones on the streets of the town, and to the general anxiety of the young who had not been permitted to go. It was fuel for nightmares, especially when one heard the trickle of tales from Helm's Deep and the horrible things that had passed there. Éomer had faced that once, and right now he could be facing it again... was it too much to hope that he'd be lucky twice?

 _Or he could already be dead._

The thought brought the taste of bile in her mouth. Lothíriel gritted her teeth against it and swallowed, fighting to keep inside what little food she had been able to eat so far. Eventually, she decided not to push her luck more than she had. The last thing she wanted to do was to lose the control of her stomach right here in the breakfast table.

At the time the other servants had finished their breakfast, Lothíriel had managed to force down no more than four spoonfuls of porridge. Aengifu looked concerned, as did Saethryd and Derehild. She flashed them a smile, though she knew it didn't fool them, and got up on her feet.

She had taken no more than a few steps when a wave of dizziness and nausea washed over her, and her eyes went dark.

The next thing Lothíriel knew was the face of Saethryd as the serving maid slapped her cheeks and called someone named Daerien. All she could think of was how her name was Lothíriel, and where was Éomer? She wanted to see him. For one blissful moment, she thought he would be rushing through the crowd, he'd kneel next to her and take her in his arms... but he didn't come, and the disappointment was so bad she felt like someone had punched air out of her.

"Daerien! Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?" a voice kept asking, and finally she realised Aengifu was forcibly demanding her to answer.

"I'm fine. I'm fine", Lothíriel answered, blinking and trying to get a hold of herself. What had happened? Why was she down on the floor?

"You just fainted. Do you feel sick? Should I send for a healer?" Derehild asked for her part, feeling her forehead with the palm of her hand. All three of her friends were crouched about her, and beyond she saw faces of other people as well. What an embarrassing situation!

"No healers. I'm fine. Really", the princess answered, sitting up though her friends didn't seem to think it a good idea for her to get up so quickly. True enough, another wave of nausea and light-headedness went through her, and cold sweat trickled down her neck.

"What is going on? Why are you loitering about, girls?" Athilda's sharp voice interrupted the scene. Lothíriel looked up at the chatelaine, who hovered nearby like an enormous bird of prey.

"Daerien is not well", Aengifu answered, rising up to face the woman. "I think she should go back to bed and get some rest."

"I'm sure she's fine. All of you should get to work!" Athilda stated coolly.

Now Saethryd and Derehild lifted themselves as well, and all three stood between their friend and the chatelaine like a wall.

"Aengifu said she's not well. Did you not hear?" Saethryd asked belligerently.

"Shall I go and get Master Frithestan? I'm sure he'd love to hear about you abusing sick servants", Derehild added calmly as though she was discussing the weather.

Lothíriel wondered if she should intervene or not. But quickly it occurred to her she wouldn't have been able – if she opened her mouth now, she was sure to start bawling like a child. These three, who had welcomed her with open arms and treated her friendly from the start even though she was a foreigner and a liar, were defending her!

Athilda said no more. She pursed her lips and turned, striding away before the four young women really had time to process it. Then Saethryd turned and offered her hand to Lothíriel, who hauled herself on her feet again. She still did not feel entirely steady, which Aengifu apparently noticed. The blonde serving maid linked her arm with hers.

"Come along, Daerien. You need to get some rest", she stated in a fashion that tolerated no objections, and at any rate Lothíriel had not planned on giving any.

Apparently Derehild and Saethryd were satisfied she was in good hands, and so they left to see to the day's labours. But Aengifu was determinedly steering her light-headed friend back to their chamber.

"Here is what we will do. You lie down and wait, while I'll go and get you something from the kitchens. You promise to eat and drink everything I bring, and in exchange, I won't go tattling to Master Heregils. Do you agree?" Aengifu asked her when they entered the small room they shared with other two girls. Her words were delivered so vigorously that Lothíriel didn't think she could have refused even if she had presently possessed the soundness of mind it would have required.

"All right", she said, and with a wry smile she added, "You could give Athilda a run for her money. Well, one could say you and the others just did. Thank you, Aengifu."

"It's nothing. She was being unreasonable", said her friend and waved her hand nonchalantly. "Just lie down and get comfortable. I'll be back soon."

Lothíriel lowered herself stiffly on the bedroll and pulled her knees against her chest. She was grateful for her friends' interference, and for a chance to get some rest. However, she knew her fainting spell was mostly her own doing. Of course this would happen when she wasn't eating enough, and kept throwing up most of what she could get down. She had hoped it would get better sooner or later, but there had been no such luck yet. With a sigh, she rubbed her temples and closed her eyes. She had thought herself stronger than this, but the days after Éomer's departure had driven her to the limits of her endurance. How much more could she take before her back snapped under all this?

Aengifu returned soon enough. She had got her some porridge, sweetened with honey, and a big mug of steaming herb tea.

"I think these should help to soothe your stomach. Tea is Heagyth's special", she said as she carefully laid the tray down by the bedroll. "I'll check on you later. This better be finished by then!"

"Yes, my lady", Lothíriel said with a faint smile and watched her friend whirl out of the room again. Then it was quiet again and she fixed her eyes on the food laid before her. The porridge was really more like gruel, which hopefully would make it easier to digest and keep inside. With a sigh, she picked up the spoon and began to eat, though it was now even slower than before. Aengifu was right: she _had_ to eat.

It was long, laborious work, but eventually the bowl was empty and she sipped last of the tea. Then she settled down on the bedroll and tried to remain still, hoping that might help. She really couldn't get sick right now, or make her friends even more concerned about her than they already were. Lothíriel worried her lip, reminding herself that Brithwen had promised to talk to Éomer; she should try and trust the Shieldmaiden would be successful. However, while the war lasted it wasn't easy to hold on to good spirits, especially the way her moods were swinging back and forth all the time, and she felt like bursting in tears at least once a day... it was odd, really, because usually she wasn't this emotional even before her moon blood came.

A frown began to grow on her face when she tried to remember the last time she had bled. It had been just after Yuletide!

In seconds, she was on her feet, her mind too busy to make notice of any sickness caused by such a sudden movement. Then, after grabbing her cloak, she hurried outside.

* * *

As promised, Aengifu came to check on her later that day. Whatever the serving maid had expected to find, it didn't seem to be what she came across in the small chamber. For Lothíriel sat with her forehead against her knees, and she was too overwrought to even try to pretend she was fine.

"Daerien? What is it? Are you feeling worse?" asked the other woman worriedly as she came to her. When Lothíriel didn't answer, she knelt next to her and took her by shoulders.

"Daerien, if you don't answer me this instance, I'm going to get Heregils", she said loudly,

"Don't bother. I already went to see him", said the dark-haired woman at last, and she thought her voice sounded like it belonged to some stranger. She lifted her eyes to see the confusion on the face of her friend.

"I don't understand. Did he tell you something bad?" Aengifu wondered out loud, and hearing her words, Lothíriel couldn't hold back a hysterical little laugh.

"You could say so", she said, straining to speak when the terrified sensation grew inside her. She had to force the words out, and even then they sounded unreal, "He... he thinks I'm with child."

Aengifu's eyes widened and she let out a high-pitched squeal as she threw her arms about the other woman.

"But that is wonderful news!" she exclaimed happily, and looked like she was bursting with questions, but Lothíriel spoke before she could voice any of them.

"It's terrible news, is what it is!" she cried. "It can't be happening! I can't... I'm not... Éomer hates me, and my family will never want me back now! I have no place to go, and I have no way to provide for my child! My life is finished as surely as if I had walked off a cliff!"

Then tears came at last, pouring out so violently that she would surely have collapsed right there and then; but Aengifu pulled her close, stroking her hair and whispering soothingly as she sobbed in her friend's lap. She was even worse than a soiled woman now – she was carrying a child outside the wedlock, and the father of her baby probably never wanted to see her again, even if he survived the war. Who was to say he would make it and come back? And she knew what happened to a woman in her position. Be it here in Rohan or in Minas Tirith, she would end up in some pleasure house, to be used and used and used until all that she had been was _gone._ Curse her foolish trust, curse her twisted fate, and curse the night she had first laid eyes on Éomer!

"Shh, Daerien. It's not so bad as you think it is", Aengifu spoke at last, when her sobs had somewhat subsided. "Don't you see, my friend? The child you bear is not a curse, but a gift! It's a gift to all of Rohan! For Théodred is dead, and the King and his sister-children have ridden to war in Gondor. No one knows if any of them will return. But you carry Lord Éomer's child! The blood of the House of Eorl lives on in you, and through you, we have hope for future. Daerien, your baby could be the next king of the Riddermark!"

The princess looked up and blinked tears from her eyes. Aengifu continued, "Lord Éomer is a good man. He would never abandon the woman who bears his child. Once he hears of this, he will be overjoyed! Do you have so little faith in him that you'd think he wouldn't care about the child that was conceived in his bed?"

"But... but why should anyone believe it's his?" Lothíriel stammered, her voice thick with tears.

"Oh, silly girl! This entire town knows whose child it is. Do you think we haven't paid attention to the two of you? Is it because of what happened in Edoras? You know you needn't worry about that – Brithwen told everybody what really happened and that you were only trying to confuse Wormtongue. And if things go so ill that the King and his heirs won't return home alive, then you only need to go to meet the men he left in charge, and tell them this news. They will not hesitate to help you and provide for you. And if the war should be victorious and Éomer gets back, then all the better for you. He is sure to marry you now, even if you parted in dispute", Aengifu said, smiling broadly as she spoke.

Hearing all this, it was as though some heavy stone fell from Lothíriel's heart. She had been so sure she was ruined, that there was no redeeming what was left of her life. But once more she had been thinking like a Gondorian rather than Eorling. And she had not realised that a child conceived and born out of wedlock could in fact be a thing of _hope_ instead of ruin.

"Now, dry your tears, dear. It's going to be all right", Aengifu reassured her gently. Lothíriel found her handkerchief and wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Despite all, she did feel slightly better. Her friend seemed to notice it as well, at least judging by her relieved smile.

"Are you going to tell Athilda?" she asked then, her big blue eyes glimmering with good humour once more.

"Why should I?" Lothíriel asked, folding her handkerchief and pushing it into the little purse on her belt. There, as always, remained those objects that held the truth about who she really was, except for Father's letter – she guessed Éomer had hidden it somewhere.

"Well, she should go easier on you while you're expecting. You'll need more rest and lighter work from now on", Aengifu pointed out.

"When has she ever gone easy on me?" Lothíriel asked, grimacing as she spoke.

"She may be obstinate old troll-wife, but even she knows Lord Éomer will go after her with vengeance if the mother of his child is somehow harmed by her actions", Aengifu said and patted her shoulder as the serving maid got up again. She picked up the tray from the floor and smiled.

"I need to get back to work. But you try and take it slowly. You need to be careful with the baby", Aengifu said cheerfully, heading out once more and leaving Lothíriel alone.

The dark-haired woman watched her go, feeling at once both relieved and guilty. Relieved, because Aengifu's words had helped a lot, and guilty because after the events of this day she knew just what a terrible friend she was. All the ways her three companions had taken care of her and stood up for her, and what had she given in return? Without them, she would never have been able to endure this long. And if they would hate her when they heard the truth, then that was only what she deserved after lying for so long.

Wearily she sighed and settled down on the bedroll, wishing she might slip into dreamless sleep and forget about all this noise in her mind for a little while.

And then there was the unexpected: she was pregnant. It was difficult to believe, though it certainly explained all that she had been feeling lately. When Heregils had first confirmed what she had already suspected, she had objected, telling him she had been drinking moon tea. He had merely said what Heagyth too had at times told her. Moon tea, while considered rather effective, was not absolute.

While she had expected this would happen some time in the future – preferably when she and Éomer were safely married – it wasn't like she had really given it much thought before now. What would it be like, to feel her body change as the child inside her grew? Would the labour be painful and difficult, as it had been for Aredhel when she had given birth to little Alphros? How dearly she missed her sister-in-law now! And then there was Éomer... what would be his reaction when he heard about this? She wondered if he would be glad, and if he would take the child in his arms and acknowledge it as his own when the time came. Well, he had told her once that nothing could make him happier than having children with her, but that had been before the affair with Wormtongue. Yes, Brithwen had promised to talk to him and explain everything, but it didn't mean he still loved Lothíriel. Perhaps her pretension had been so effective it had killed whatever he felt for her...

And that was only if he _did_ return. What then, if he died in Gondor, along with the rest of his family, and she was left here? Stranded from her own kin and waiting to give birth to the last living member of the House of Eorl... was that her fate? To live as the unwedded wife of Théoden's heir, and raise alone the next king of the Riddermark?

Lothíriel shuddered and pulled her knees close to her chest. Whatever came with the days ahead, it would not be easy. She couldn't resign herself for misery, the way she had since Edoras. She had to be strong and brave now, and endure no matter what happened.

The future lay yet undecided. She had already lived once through peril and grief and horror, and she would live through this, too.

And perhaps, on the other side, she would meet _him_ again.

* * *

 _After the Battle of Pelennor fields, before the walls of Minas Tirith_

When the battle was over, the atmosphere on the fields of Pelennor was eerie – almost unreal. It wasn't like Éomer hadn't seen the aftermath of a battle before, nor were the moans and cries of the wounded unfamiliar to him. But now, as he wandered through the battered fields, the sheer magnitude of devastation overwhelmed him. How many had died here? How many good men would never return from this site of horror? Bodies of men and horses, tattered cloaks and dented armours, corpses after corpses of orcs, and carcasses of _mûmakil_ like horrifying hills... vaguely he remembered taking down two of those beasts, though it all seemed like a very bad dream now. At times, he came across the face of a friend, and stiffly he would lower himself on one knee to lay a hand on the shoulder of the fallen, and perhaps close their eyes.

He knew why he hadn't yet been able to bring himself to enter the city. For when he did, he would have to face the truth: Éowyn and Uncle Théoden were dead. He would have to see their broken bodies and accept that they were gone, and he was alone in the world – truly, irrevocably alone. And without his kin, their laughter and their voices, the world was empty and grim and he was weary of it.

Éothain walked slowly behind him, and though the captain spoke no word, Éomer could feel his eyes fixed on himself. The reason for this was not hard to guess. His second in command was just as aware Éomer was now the last living member of the House of Eorl. They had called him king, and the royal standard had been carried before him in the battle, but none of it seemed to make any sense. What did he rule? A kingdom of corpses and a land full of burned homes? A future without hope?

With the ending of the battle, those that still could walk and had the use of their hands now had the long and bitter task of finding the injured on the fields and bringing them to the Houses of Healing. His eyes tired and dry now that the red madness of battle fury had passed, Éomer watched guards of the city searching the piles of bodies, preparing the wounded for the long way through Mundburg's streets, and sticking their blades into those orcs that were still alive but incapable of escaping. Somehow, his heart was numb at the face of all this suffering and misery. He felt like with all this wretched slaughter, the world had grown more grey, and if there was beauty left in it, he couldn't see it.

A sudden exclamation from somewhere behind him interrupted his grim, wandering thoughts. It was perhaps the last thing he could ever have imagined hearing.

"My lord! Lord Éomund!"

Éomer froze. What was happening? Who was calling the name of his long dead father? Granted, he was sometimes told he resembled his sire very much, though he was taller than Éomund had been. Or maybe he had died as well and was now wandering through some dreary plane between life and death, where time didn't exist...

He got himself moving again and he turned, seeking frantically for the person who had shouted. There, some twenty paces away, he saw a tall Gondorian man. Though his armour was dented and scratched, and his cloak was torn and stained, he was obviously a lord. His hair was dark and his eyes were bright, clear grey... he knew their shade and their shape. Few other eyes he knew as well as those which were staring at him now, and yet they were set in a male face.

And then he knew who this man was.

There was surprise on the lord's features now, and he halted to regard Éomer. Then he spoke again.

"I beg your pardon, lord. I took you for someone else", said the Gondorian man, bowing slightly at him.

"It's all right. I am Éomer, son of Éomund. I am told I resemble him greatly", Éomer answered. To his surprise, his voice had not vanished with his battle cries, and it almost sounded like normal. He cleared his throat and went on, "Do I have the honour of speaking with Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth?"

"Yes, that is my name", said the tall man and he stepped closer again. He did resemble _her_ slightly, and their eyes were indeed the same. And there was something about Prince Imrahil's air, that same natural grace that she commanded.

The Gondorian lord sought Éomer's face anxiously, and he spoke again, "I know it's unbecoming of me to be demanding anything at this time, but please, do you have any news of my daughter? A young Gondorian woman who would have come to stay in your father's town some time last May?"

"She is well, my lord. She remains safe in Aldburg, where you sent her to hide from her uncle's plans", Éomer answered quietly. He couldn't bring himself to actually say her name, nor did he wonder about Imrahil's concern. It was many months since this man had parted with his daughter, and there hadn't been a chance to correspondence with him. Briefly he wondered if he should say more about just what was his relationship with her, but this was hardly the time or place. That exchange would have to wait, especially when Éomer had no idea where he even stood with her. The last time he had seen the princess, she had made it quite clear she was done with him.

Hearing his words, Imrahil let out a quiet sound between moan and a gasp. He bowed his head and seemed to be shaking in relief.

"Thank the Powers. Thank Elbereth", the Prince whispered in a weak voice and looked up at Éomer again. Tears of joy glistened in his grey eyes. "That is the best news I have heard in months. I have often wondered what has become of her, and if our plan to send her into hiding was madness or not. I cannot tell you how glad I'm to hear it worked, after all."

He wiped a hand across his eyes and looked at Éomer with a more clear-headed expression, "I must ask, what of your father Lord Éomund? Is he here as well?"

"My father died many years ago. It is me your daughter came for help when she learned he was gone", Éomer answered and looked away. He remembered that day clear as yesterday, and how he had confronted her in his rooms... little he had known then what road was before them!

Imrahil's eyes widened in shock. Perhaps he was only just realising what his daughter's exile in a strange land truly meant... Éomer would have to choose his words carefully once they talked about this more in detail. But even then, this high and mighty prince was not like to appreciate the knowledge his daughter had been reduced into a humble serving maid.

However, it all seemed rather insignificant right now. And Éomer had already lived through the worst he could imagine.

"We must talk when there is more time, my lord. For now, know that I am truly sorry to hear about your father. He was a friend of mine, but doubtlessly Lothíriel has already told you that", said Imrahil, Then he straightened himself once more, and said, "There comes Aragorn. Come, my friend! Let us join him and enter the city. It is late, and we all need some shelter and rest."

* * *

It was hard to believe that after so much death and horror, a new morning might still dawn in the world as though nothing had happened. It's first flickers warmed Éomer's face and startled him from the uneasy slumber; he had dozed off next to Éowyn's bedside, waking up every now and then due to a stiff neck or an occasional moan from one of the wounded in the next room. They had offered him a bed in the Citadel, but Éomer had declined, refusing to leave his sister's side. The only thing he had agreed to do was get rid of his grime-covered armour and get a change of clothes, but those were the only allowances he had made for his own comfort.

She was fast asleep now, and she had not moved once during the night, but Éomer couldn't bring himself to leaving her. What if she woke up and didn't know where she was? What if she got worse again?

He couldn't lose her. _Not her._ Not after everything else that had already slipped from his fingers like wisps of smoke. And he had failed her so many times, leaving her alone in Edoras, he hadn't been there to protect her from Wormtongue's greedy gaze, and he had allowed this darkness to nearly consume her... Aragorn had brought her back indeed, for which he would always be grateful, but when Éowyn had woken up, her eyes held no hope. And it terrified him to know he had no idea of how to help her.

With a sigh, he shifted on his seat, stretching his stiff limbs and rubbing his neck. There was a deep weariness in his bones, and he knew a long, undisturbed sleep in a proper bed would have done him a lot of good. The battle had left him with bruises and small aches here and there, though no blade had cut him during those endless hours of bloodshed. And it was a wonder he had survived so intact; the mad charge he had lead over the fields of Pelennor had surely been fuelled with such a deathwish he was lucky to be here now. How should he be able to rest now, when Uncle lay dead and Éowyn was so badly injured? Grimly he wondered if some kind of a curse was laid on him, what with the way everything he loved was taken from him, either by death or by cruel circumstances... if he was destined to live only so long as to see the ending of all that he held dear.

There was a soft knock at the door, startling him from these dark thoughts. Thankful for the interruption, Éomer got up and winced when the movement made him even more aware of how stiff he felt. His feet were heavy as stone and it was hard to hold up his shoulders; one might have thought there was a mountain loaded on his back.

When he opened the door, he saw Éothain there. Apparently, along with few other guards his friend had also spent the night in the Houses of Healing, perhaps stretched on some bench in case their king had orders for them. His captain had made it through the battle without a scratch as well, for which Éomer was thankful. He had enough to worry about without having to find a replacement for his second in command, and at any rate it wouldn't be an easy task to discover anyone as experienced as Éothain.

"What is it?" Éomer asked tiredly. If he was supposed to gear up and jump in saddle, then he seriously doubted his ability to do so just now.

"Brithwen is here. She wants to talk to you", Éothain spoke in a low, soft voice, as though he was afraid of disturbing the calm of this early hour.

Éomer couldn't say he wasn't glad she had made it through the battle. However, he was too tired to deal with her right now, and the bad taste from their last meeting still lingered.

"Is it something urgent?" he asked his captain, rubbing his neck in an attempt to relieve the sore spots there. Sadly, no princesses were available at this time to ask for a good rubbing. Béma, he was going to miss those.

Just as he missed _her._

Quickly he cut the wings of that line of thought, reminding himself it was only a story of her he had loved. The woman he had thought to know did not really exist.

"Not that I could gather. I understand it was something of a more personal kind", Éothain answered.

The young king tried to think what could Brithwen possibly want at this time. The only thing his weary mind was able to come up with was she hoped to renew their relationship now that the princess was no longer between them. At once, the idea had his mind turning dark and even spiteful. Yes, that was what she hoped: thinking he would welcome her with open arms, or that he desired for some physical relief after the battle. She would think something so loathsome while he was sitting next to the bed of his injured sister!

"Dismiss her. I really do not have the energy right now", Éomer said to his captain, who regarded him with unveiled compassion.

"I'll take care of it, Éomer", he said softly and reached to touch the younger man's shoulder briefly. "Why don't you go and find yourself a real bed? You need to get some rest."

"Aye. Maybe later", Éomer muttered. While the idea of sleep was tempting, he couldn't leave Éowyn. Éothain gave his arm an awkward little pat, and then the captain turned away to carry out the orders. The young king watched him go, thankful for the small grace of not having to deal with at least this one thing.

"Brother?" a thin voice called, and without a further thought Éomer returned to his sister, casting Brithwen out of his mind.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Here is a new chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. :)

So, the war is now in full swing and our lovers are sadly parted from one another. I gather many of my readers hoped for a quick reunion for them, but I decided against it when I was drafting this part of the story. For one, the circumstances would prevent it, what with Éomer riding to war and Lothíriel failing to confront him before it's too late. But I also wanted to explore how they would deal with this situation and what they would feel, thinking their relationship has failed. Plus, it rather paves the road for what I have in store for later chapters.

As for her father, I'm sure Éomer is rather uncomfortable not being able to tell the truth. However, he knows there is a time and place for that sort of revelation, and a war like they're fighting is not it. And deep down, even though he hasn't even articulated that to himself, he probably thinks it would be unfair towards Lothíriel to go revealing this to her family when he doesn't know where he stands with her.

I hope you liked that Brithwen has finally come around. She never was a bad person - she just let her anger and disappointment cloud her judgement. But when she realises the harm and pain her actions brings to the man she claimed to love, she can see things clearly once more.

Originally, Lothíriel did not conceive - obviously, as in the first draft they did not become lovers. But when the second version emerged and I decided to go with it, I also was immediately attracted to the idea of her discovering she's pregnant not long after Éomer has departed, thinking she has been lying to him all this time.

Thanks for reading and reviewing, and for favouriting and following this story! :)

* * *

 **sailor68 -** I'm glad you liked the twist! I think the major reason her cover is not entirely blown is because everyone has bigger things to worry about now. Some random girl is not high on their list of priorities, and anyway the general understanding probably is she was just doing what she had to in order to fool Wormtongue. Considering she's not a warrior, it would be very dangerous for her to go to battle.

 **berry-cool -** Happy to hear you enjoyed it! :)

 **pbbalboa -** What can I say? It's a difficult habit to quit! ;)

 **coecoe11 -** You're welcome! :)

 **EStrunk -** Hopefully, the chapter answers some of your questions! Due to his conversation with Brithwen just before facing Wormtongue, Éomer knows whatever Lothíriel said in the court was mostly rubbish. So he doesn't think she had this double story made up from the start, or that she was just trying to have fun. However, her manners, her coming to Edoras at this time, and her refusal to look at him do make him believe that she was essentially just using him, first for cover and then for amusement. As to why Lothíriel wouldn't look at him, for her it was because she knew her act would immediately fall apart if she did. But to Éomer it seems like she's being a coward, and it further convinces him that she has been leading him on all along.

 **Rebecca M -** Thank you! I'm happy to hear you enjoy my writing so much! :)

 **Hobbitpony1 -** Alas, but it was never going to be so easy once she was delivered into Wormtongue's hands! And this way, we get to examine their characters and relationship from another point of view.

 **Lathril -** I would say it's partly because there is so much bad things going on, and her seemingly betraying him just adds up to it. But it's also very much because Éomer doesn't know Lothíriel was taken to Edoras against her will. If he knew all the facts, and if the situation was any other, it would be easier for him to figure out what really happened. It's just not possible when the war is going on and he doesn't exactly have time to find out the truth.

Meanwhile, peope in Aldburg know the circumstances of her going to Edoras, and Brithwen spreading the word surely helps, too. So they don't actually fall for the bluff, and anyway they probably are more focused on the war and what is going to happen to them personally.

 **notyetanotheralias -** All in good time!

 **Rinarwen -** Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. :)

It was all around bad day for them all, I think!

 **Anon -** Thank you! I'm afraid I just enjoy tormenting the characters too much! ;) But seriously it's because then you get to test their endurance and what they are really made of. As a writer, I find that more interesting than just composing a story after story where nothing goes wrong.

Also Éomer is still keeping the full story to himself. He probably thinks it would distract them all from the war, and right now he and Imrahil both really need to focus on leading their men and trying not to get killed. Obviously he doesn't enjoy it but the situation is what it is.

 **Anon -** I can't say what is going to happen next and whether she gets to meet him any time soon! But she is rather desperate to do just that. The baby is surely making things very complicated for her, but right now there isn't much she can do.

 **pulchritudo in omnia -** Thanks! How the things will turn out - I can only tell you to wait and see!

 **eschscholzia -** The timing really couldn't have been worse. And it is rather unfortunate, really - because Lothíriel doesn't know about Gandalf and co. being on the way, she couldn't come up with another way to play time. And as the timeline is so tight, she doesn't get a chance to try to reconcile with Éomer!

 **littlerock77 -** Well, I surely hope you have managed to function these past two weeks! :D

 **coffeebookchiller -** Yes, I do hope these events bring in some interesting moments we wouldn't have been able to see otherwise! We'll see how things turn out. :)


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

The day after the great battle, Éomer arrived at the town house of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth.

The man had insisted him to come as soon as possible, as he was desperate to hear more about his daughter. Éomer did not particularly look forward to it, because he had already resolved he couldn't exactly tell the simple, mortifying truth to the man. Like he had thought to himself before, this was not the time or the place, and truthfully speaking he wasn't even sure how to go about it.

Be it as may, he had to tell Imrahil _something._ There was a chance the prince would be furious with him later on, once the full truth was out. But he could focus on only so many things, and the war and Éowyn's injuries were all that he could handle right now. And they needed to focus on defending the world of Men, which would be all the more difficult if the entire Amrothian line was out for his blood. For now, keeping his silence was a necessity.

So, evening was growing late when he came to the prince's dwelling. Through a massive gate, he entered into a paved courtyard of a two-story building. He supposed it was a beautiful place, and certainly the stone-masonry of the house suggested this was not the dwelling of an ordinary farmer. But it was also cold to his eyes, and once they stepped inside, he didn't feel like actual people lived here. Certainly he couldn't imagine _her_ here, walking these great hallways. But then he reminded himself that the woman shrouded in half-lights and gentle shadows of Aldburg, illuminated by sun or by fire, did not truly belong in that place. She never had, just as she had never wanted to come to the Mark or leave her true life in Gondor.

While he was thinking of this, a young dark-haired man came leaping down the wide staircase that lead to the second floor. Immediately Éomer knew he had to be a member of the family – perhaps one of her brothers.

"My lord! Welcome to our house!" called the young man cheerfully, his hazel eyes glittering with such joy of living as was rare in days so dark. Éomer guessed he had to be Amrothos, the youngest of her brothers. She had described him as the most carefree and mischievous of the three princes.

The dark-haired Gondorian looked like he might just have grabbed the Rohir in a bear-hug, though this was the first time they met. But the arrival of two more Amrothian princes disrupted that idea.

"Lord Éomer! Welcome! We have been expecting you very anxiously", announced one of the two newcomers as he strode into the hall. There was Prince Imrahil himself, and next to him walked what had to be another son of his. He was slightly taller than his younger brother, and bore a greater resemblance to their father. And he had those blasted grey eyes, which now were a rather painful reminder of one person he had loved more than anything. It was disconcerting to have two pairs of them fixed at him, and seeing nothing but good will and appreciation in them... especially when he knew he couldn't be as honest with them as he would have wanted. And their regard would immediately turn into resentment and hatred if he told them the full truth about what he had done to _her._

"It is an honour", he said, trying to sound normal. Béma, what a mess he had got himself into!

"No, the honour is all ours. We know the moment is hardly very convenient for you. We are grateful you could spare us this time. I see you have already met Amrothos. This here is Elphir, my eldest son", Imrahil said with a broad smile. Reaching for Éomer's shoulder in a comradely fashion, he looked at the younger man with warm eyes. "I'm afraid Erchirion can't be here today, though I'm sure he would love to meet the man who has kept our Lothíriel safe for so long. He was left in charge of Dol Amroth when we rode to defend Minas Tirith."

"She has spoken much about you. She misses her family greatly", Éomer said, somewhat monotonically. Talking about her was not the easiest thing to do, and he didn't enjoy the knowledge she would probably be the sole topic of tonight.

The three princes exchanged a quiet look between themselves and he didn't miss the yearning there. For them, her affection was the realest thing in the world.

Imrahil cleared his throat and patted Éomer's arm again.

"Please come! The dinner is ready. You must be famished after the day's councils", he said, gesturing to the airy hallway he and his oldest son had emerged from minutes earlier.

"Aye, my lord", Éomer answered, desperately trying to come up with a way to loosen up a bit. If he remained so tense during the dinner, they would surely know something was amiss.

The dining hall was every bit as grand as other rooms he saw on the way there, with furniture made of polished wood, and blue and silver banners, and magnificent carpets. The dishes in the table were porcelain and silver, glasses made of crystal, and food was brought in by a multitude of servants. They moved about like they were dancers and the food they served him consisted of things he had only heard of in _her_ stories. It was a bizarrely foreign world to him.

Once they all had their portions and their glasses were filled with drinks, the second-oldest of Imrahil's sons spoke up.

"I know you have a lot on your mind right now, my lord, but please, tell us of Lothíriel. How is she? Did she send any word to us? Has everything gone according to her and Father's plan?" Prince Elphir asked, his eyes just as eager as those of his father and brother.

Éomer sighed. These men were hardly going to appreciate half of what he was about to tell them. He would be extremely lucky if he wasn't chased out of this table like some kind of a villain.

"She fares well. The last I saw her, she was in good health, though I suppose she misses you and her home very deeply. However, I'm afraid I cannot give you any message from her, as we didn't speak before I rode for Gondor. But she should be in Aldburg, waiting for your summons home", he stated in a slow, steady voice.

"And her knights? I trust they remain with her?" Prince Imrahil asked.

The young king had to bite the inside of his cheek. The moment he had been dreading had finally arrived, and very soon these men would hear their kinswoman, a lady of a great ancient line, had been nothing but a humble servant in his household! As a matter of fact, if he even got out _alive..._ that would be a major accomplishment.

"I have some bad news", he started at last, deciding it was just better to get this out sooner rather than later. What had happened couldn't be changed.

So he spoke, explaining how he had found her wandering on the plains, and how he had fallen for her act. He was not surprised when he saw the mortified expressions on the faces of his host and the two brothers of his lover. Prince Imrahil sat pale and still, while Amrothos gaped at Éomer. Elphir's face was dark and his mouth was a thin line.

"I truly am sorry for what happened. In my defence, I can simply say it seemed like the only way to keep her safe and close to myself. There was not much choice, as her guardians were gone and so was her original disguise. I didn't know how long she would have to stay in Aldburg, and seeing she was willing to continue with that pretension... she was very brave. We did the best we could", Éomer said at last and took a long sip of his wine, hoping it might drown the grim resignation he felt.

"This is... I didn't expect this. I cannot say I'm very pleased to hear that my daughter has been living as a commoner for all these months", Imrahil said at last, his voice strained. Éomer gave him a pained little smile.

"Aye, she thought you would say that, my lord. When I first found out who she was in truth, I meant to release her from serving duties. But she insisted to keep working like before. She said it would give her something to do, and I guess she was also safer, posing a servant. That way, she was able to remain a non-entity all this time", he explained, though it was getting harder and harder to keep talking about her. Each mention of her name was like a dagger stabbing him in the chest.

"Wait a minute", Amrothos put in, "you said she actually insisted on keeping up with such charade?"

"She did. I think... whatever happened to her when she was alone in the wild... she was scared it would happen again, and so she was ready to do anything to stay securely in my Hall, where she at least had a promise of shelter and my protection", Éomer answered and looked down, frowning as he did. _Lothíriel..._ none of it made sense. How could one person wear so many different faces?

Great Rider in the sky, how he missed her.

"Well", Imrahil spoke again, and at least the tone of his skin was slightly closer to normal now. "I suppose it would be unfair for me to judge her so quickly. As a warrior, I do know sometimes you don't have choice but to think on your feet and make the best of it. Her situation surely was not an easy one, but perhaps your way about it was right... after all, she has remained safe through these perilous times. And I can see you care for my daughter deeply."

"You do?" Éomer said with some surprise and also some doubt. He had been trying to banish _her_ so hard, to stop caring about her... because if he did, then maybe the heartbreak would be a bit easier to bear.

"Of course. I can only guess what it must have cost you, to keep up such pretension for so long. Lord Éomund your father told me how much honesty is valued in your land. And so you must care for her, to lend your aid and keep her secret when there was no obligation for you to hold on to promises made by others – even your own kin. What is more, I can see you took a great risk in allowing her to stay. I would be ungrateful to disregard this", Prince Imrahil said, and now his voice was slightly softer than before. The Rohir considered maybe this wouldn't end in bloodshed, after all... well, that was only as long as they didn't know about the rest of it.

"She asked for my help", he said slowly, fighting against the sensation of pain when he remembered those clear bright eyes and the look in them on that moment when she had first placed her hand in his. Éomer cleared his throat and continued, "I couldn't just leave her to die, or let harm come to her."

 _Too bad none of that meant anything to her in the end._

The sun had set when he took his leave of the three princes. He was still tired from his efforts in the battle and the long ride before it, but he decided to check on Éowyn and stay with her for a couple of hours before going to bed. Tomorrow, more councils were in store, and more plans waited to be made. With a sigh, Éomer thought of the days ahead and the darkness that awaited him... somehow, the conversation tonight with _her_ family had not eased his mind at all. Rather, he felt even more troubled than before.

If he would survive what was still to come, it might be just to get murdered by four Gondorian princes.

* * *

 _April 3019, Aldburg_

The news of victory came at long last in the beginning of April. Lord Elfhelm, newly appointed as Marshal by Éomer King, had sent messengers as soon as tidings of the battle before the Black Gate had reached Minas Tirith. They had hastened to Rohan at once to spread the word that was almost too good to believe: the Dark Lord had fallen, his armies were scattered to the wind, and Lord Aragorn and Éomer King had lead the Men of the West to a great victory. There was talk about Eagles and Rings of Power, two little Halflings whose courage had decided the fate of the World, and soon there would be a king in the White City once more.

It was no wonder that a makeshift feast was started immediately upon the arrival of these news; though the winter had been hard and the days of rebuilding would be difficult, this was a night to celebrate. Perhaps one could even say that the challenges to come were all the more reason to take this moment and rejoice in freedom and _life._

Lothíriel participated the feast along with her friends, but though she was as glad as anyone that the war was over, there was still an unquiet in her mind. So, after a time she slipped out of the Hall to take a moment to just think about what did all these tidings mean for her.

Outside, it was dim but the April night was surprisingly warm, and she sought herself a seat near the entrance, where guards would often be seated during daytime. Now most of them were close to a fire, passing drinks with themselves. It must be quite the challenge to be on duty on a night like this.

The princess folded her hands in her lap and tipped her face upwards to gaze at the sun's last flickers in horizon. The war was over, it was said Uncle Denethor had died during the siege of Minas Tirith, and she had heard a mention of her father staying at the camp of the Host of the West. She knew what these things meant: after so many months, she could go _home._ And yet to her surprise, she didn't feel overjoyed. In fact, she didn't know _what_ she felt exactly. How many nights had she lain awake, miserable and praying for the turn of the tide that would recall her back home? Wasn't this what she had so long waited for?

But things had changed since then. _Éomer_ had changed everything. And the child she carried surely made things very complicated. By the time someone came for her, be it her own family or some kind of an escort, her condition might already be showing. And Father was sure to throw a fit the moment he saw her and realised what had happened.

And there was the question of what Éomer had told him in the first place. There was no way they wouldn't have met – her beloved commanded Rohirrim, and as Gondor's mightiest lord, Father would serve as a high-ranking lieutenant. Not to mention, there was that thing which had brought her to Rohan in the first place: as Éomund's son, Éomer was sure to make Father's acquaintance.

Lothíriel frowned to herself. What would Éomer have told her father? Would he confess everything the moment they spoke? Would he tell her sire to take her back and ship her to Dol Amroth, so that he would never have to see her again? She didn't even know if it were a foolish hope to wish that with the ending of war, all wrongs would be mended. All she could do was guess and wait. He _would_ have to talk to her and let her explain everything. For Béma's sake, she was bearing his child! In a bout of wild hope, she thought of Father arranging something between her and Éomer, but those ideas she had to dismiss quickly enough – she knew too much of politics to entertain them for long. Éomer was now a sovereign king of a fierce people, and no foreign lord would make him do anything, least of all a southern one. For Gondor owed a heavy debt to Rohan: so many of Rohirrim had fallen defending Minas Tirith from the armies of the enemy. In the face of such a sacrifice, Gondor could not make any demands to the man who had so greatly and bitterly contributed to the salvation of the world of Men. Even as a Marshal, she did not think he would ever have taken orders from anyone else than Théoden King, or maybe Théodred Prince. He was much too stubborn, which she feared Father wouldn't understand soon enough.

Looking at the stars, her thoughts moved more closely to Éomer. Was he out there, celebrating this hard-won victory? A shiver came to her as she thought about the ways young, renowned warriors might enjoy life after such a horrible battle... after all, he had no reason to think he had to be faithful to her. And he was a king now, which would surely boost his eligibility in the eyes of southern ladies even further. She shook her head and tried to rid herself of the thought, knowing that way lay sure madness. Instead, she wondered if her beloved was all right. Had he made it unscathed through the battles? Was he warm, did he remember to eat enough? Wry little smile pulled at the corners of her mouth and she rubbed warmth into her arms. She was starting to sound exactly like her mother used to whenever Father headed for some campaign.

 _To tell you the truth, I already consider you my wife..._ such he had told her one night they had spent together. There she would have to place her faith; Éomer was honest and good, and he didn't say things he didn't mean. And for her part, the sentiment was entirely returned. She could see no other man by her side, or loving anyone else as she loved him.

Lothíriel decided she was content with this resolution. Soon she would return to Gondor, and she would meet her beloved there, along with her family... she wouldn't feel sadness at leaving this land behind, as she was sure to come back when they had cleared out everything. She had to believe that.

A chilly wind came and she shivered against it. Even in spring, the Mark was not as warm as Dol Amroth by the sea. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine the flowers blooming in the gardens of her father's palace, the songs of birds, the sunlight glittering on waves as she raced her dear Summer along the surf... spring came with hope, but never with hope such as there was in the world now.

The war was over. Lothíriel smiled to herself and turned, heading back to the Hall. It would take a while to get used to the idea of peace, but she was more than glad to try.

* * *

"You are going to be needing bigger dresses soon."

Aengifu's observation, delivered in early days of April, was indeed quite true. It was not noticeable yet while she was clothed, she knew her very form would soon be announcing to all who might see that she was pregnant. The first she had realised she was starting to show, she had not been sure what to feel. When she touched the bare skin of her stomach, it became more real than before now: there really was a child inside her, and it was growing larger slowly but surely. Eventually, relief came too: though she had often been unwell especially on those first days after Edoras, it didn't seem to have harmed the baby.

"I'll have to ask if Captain Éothain's wife, Lady Scýne, might be willing to borrow some of hers", Lothiriel said softly. She had never actually talked to the woman, though she had seen her at times in the Hall. But she knew Éomer and Éothain were close friends, so perhaps Scýne would not be opposed to the idea of helping out the mother of the King's unborn child.

"I'm sure she will. She seems nice", Aengifu commented with a brief smile and reached to pat her friend's hand.

Heagyth had assigned them to go through piles of old sheets and other used fabrics, to see which could be re-used and mended. It wasn't the most exciting work, but it was what Heagyth had judged light enough for a pregnant woman.

"I wonder when the King will return from Gondor and things go back to normal. Béma, all this waiting is driving me mad!" Aengifu said after a moment's silence. Lothíriel made a soft sound in agreement, and her friend glanced at her thoughtfully, "You must be anxious, too. Have you thought about how you will tell him?"

"Not really. It depends on when I'll see him again... by that time, I might not even need to say anything", Lothíriel said wryly. She knew it could go in a really unfortunate way, if Éomer was still angry with her. She grimaced, "You know I had to lead him on back in Edoras, when Wormtongue was still in power. So he may not be happy to see me. And he can be so stubborn, so I don't know if he will listen to me."

"We'll tell him what's what if he insists on being a stubborn oaf", Aengifu reassured her warmly. "If nothing else works, we'll unleash Derehild on him. She may be soft-spoken and quiet, but she can be terrifying when it's necessary. Sometimes I even think the world lost a legendary Shieldmaiden in her."

Lothíriel smiled; the idea of the petite serving maid going after the famed warrior king was quite something. But she knew Derehild had uncommon strength about her, and Éomer seemed to pay more heed to her than lords usually did to their servants.

"Not to mention, coming home after all those horrible battles and finding out he's going to be a father may just cheer him up so fine he won't even remember to be angry", Aengifu went on and grinned.

"Let us hope it will turn out so well", said the princess softly.

"You don't have to worry about future anymore, Daerien. Lord Éomer is king now, and that means he can do as he pleases. And considering you are already carrying his child, there's no reason he shouldn't marry you at once. Before the war, he really was too much in love with you to let some misunderstanding to be the end of it", Aengifu said, perhaps sensing some troubled mood on her. But judging by the serving maid's expression, something uneasy occurred to her as well with those words.

"That means he'll probably take you with him to Edoras, though. We are going to miss you so much", said her friend then, making the dark-haired woman look up.

"You can visit me any time you want. Maybe I can find you work there, if you'd like", Lothíriel offered. The idea of moving to Edoras and starting all over seemed rather unnerving one, especially when the truth about her identity was revealed. She just hoped her time as a serving maid would not impact how people regarded her. But in any case, it would be easier if she had friends there. And among Rohirrim, it didn't seem like it would be improper for a noble lady to be friends with common folk.

It was nice to imagine all that. However, she knew it wasn't wise to plan ahead, not when she didn't even know where she and Éomer were standing now. In Gondor, he would surely meet many high-born ladies, and he was a young, unmarried king and a war-hero... southern lords would be throwing their daughters at him, hoping to secure the match of a lifetime. And who was to say Éomer wouldn't be inclined to consider choosing one of them as his queen? By the time he got back, he could very well be betrothed already.

She shook her head. All these what ifs were starting to drive her insane. Aengifu was right: Rohirrim couldn't return soon enough.

Their conversations came to a close at the arrival of Derehild at the door. Her eyes were large and the expression in them was strange as her gaze fixed on Lothíriel.

"Daerien... I think you should come. Some guests have arrived", Derehild said, and her voice was soft and unusual.

"What guests?" Lothíriel asked, tensing and sitting up straighter.

"They are from Gondor. Their leader is talking about some princess", said her friend, and the golden-haired young woman was staring at her as though one whose eyes have long been covered by some veil.

Lothíriel was on her feet in less than seconds. Then she was hurrying outside, making her way through the familiar halls and into the light of the courtyard. At first, sudden brightness blinded her, but her heart was hacking at her breast in near violent excitement. Her breath came as shallow gasps, hitching when she saw the small group of travellers.

Their appearance could not be mistaken about. How many times had she seen Swan Knights coming and going, training with her brothers and riding with her father? Even without that, she would have known the looks of Gondorians, with their dark hair and their raiment so different from Eorlingas. And there in the middle of them, speaking quietly with Master Frithestan, she saw her youngest brother.

"Amrothos!" Lothíriel cried in delight, and she went running to him, laughing and crying at the same time. Then she jumped in his arms and grabbed him so tight he might have snapped in half hadn't he been wearing mail and jerkin.

"Lothíriel! Is it really you? Are you really my little sister?" he asked, sounding just as beside himself as he whirled her around in the air. Oh, dear Amrothos! There he was, his hair as fanciful as ever, and his eyes glimmering with his good-spirited thoughts! Already she felt like halfway back to Dol Amroth.

For some time, neither of them were really capable of anything except hugging one another, and first laughing and then crying, until tears became uncontrolled laughter again. What the spectators thought of this display, she didn't know and she didn't care; after so many months, she was finally with one of her own kin – one she had known before all the strange madness of past year. Amrothos was here and nothing else mattered.

"Sister, let me look at you!" he finally spoke, pulling back so that he could properly regard her. As he took in the sight of her, she saw his eyes widen in a slightly alarming fashion. "What have they done with you? Are you all right? Elbereth, when I heard about what you have been doing to hide, I couldn't believe it! How on earth could you let that happen? Aunt Ivriniel will be mortified to hear that you, a lady of most high birth, has spent all this time as a servant in Rohan! What were you thinking, Lothíriel!"

Hearing her brother talk away, fast-paced and light as she remembered him, Lothíriel nearly burst in tears once more. But she was able to keep from crying, and she smiled at him.

"I have missed you, brother", she simply said, though that didn't even begin to entail all that she felt at seeing him after so many months of separation.

"And I missed you, sister! Sweet merciful Nienna, I can hardly believe that you are really standing before me! All those months wondering about if you were safe... and then Lord Éomer comes and tells Father about how you lost your knights and came to be in his Hall! I've never heard a more dreadful thing! I thought Father might have a heart attack when he was telling us about it!" he said, and his expression became a grimace at the end of the sentence. He hugged her tight again, "But don't you worry about a thing. We'll get you home as soon as possible. My men and horses just need a couple of day s of rest, and then we will ride to Minas Tirith together. We'll leave all this unpleasantness behind and things can go back to as they used to be! We'll meet Father and Elphir once they return from Cormallen, and then we'll sail home together and see the rest of our family in Dol Amroth. Though I must warn you, Aunt Ivriniel and Aredhel are never going to let you out of their sight after this!"

As Lothíriel listened to her brother talk, she wondered what Éomer had told her father and brothers. At least, it sounded like had made no mention of the nature of his relationship with her. What did that mean? Was it because he wanted to get rid of her and was pretending like nothing had happened between him and her, or did he merely want to talk things through with her before telling her family the truth about them? She could only guess. At any rate, Amrothos seemed to think she was just dying to get back to Dol Amroth.

However, she didn't have the luxury of being able to wait. The baby she carried had made sure of that.

So she looked at her brother, whose expression had now become doubtful. He must already have sensed something was amiss, the way she didn't join him in his excited flood of words.

"Amrothos, we need to talk", she told him softly.

"Of course we will. You must tell me everything about your little adventures here in Rohan", he said, and though she wasn't sure what she thought about his choice of words, Lothíriel smiled anyway. She began to pull him after her to the Hall, when suddenly he halted.

"Oh, one more thing", Amrothos said, whirling around to regard the people who had stopped to watch this scene, and only now Lothíriel saw how wary and suspicious most of their faces looked like. She winced to herself, wondering what they must think about all this.

"My good people! I must apologise for interrupting your peaceful day. It is not to worry, as I do not bring any ill tidings from Gondor", Amrothos exclaimed in a loud voice, and at once she reached for her brother's arm.

"Amrothos -" she tried, knowing already what he was doing, and not liking it one bit.

"I am Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth, son to the Prince Imrahil, lieutenant of Lord Aragorn Isildur's Heir. My task here is no more, no less than to reclaim a lost jewel of the House of Dol Amroth – my sister, Princess Lothíriel, who has remained hidden here among you. Do not wonder! Due to some unfortunate circumstances, she took refuge in Aldburg under a false name and identity, but now has come time for hidden things to come forth!" Amrothos announced, sounding so pompous that it would have suited even Elphir's more demanding tastes. All through it, Lothíriel was trying not to cringe – or hit her brother over his head for his truly tactless way of revealing her. After all these months, her disguise was blown just like that!

"On the behalf of my father and our House, I give my thanks to all of you, and especially to King Éomer, who so graciously kept her safe in his own home!" he finished his little speech.

She tried to smile, though to her dismay she saw now even more suspicious faces, and if Amrothos had thought his little display would earn some applauds, he was sorely mistaken. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed him by arm and pulled him after herself.

"Come along, brother. We _really_ need to talk."

* * *

"I wish you hadn't done that."

Lothíriel said those words to her brother when they were securely in the chamber she shared with her servant friends. Her brother seemed bewildered by that choice of room for their talk – maybe he had thought she had her own chamber in Éomer's Hall, or something.

Her words, however, distracted him from that particular thought.

"Why not? You've been hiding long enough, and there's no point in wearing disguises anymore. Not to mention, now you don't have to make any such declarations yourself", he pointed out as he plumped down on her bedroll. His manner was so _Amrothos_ she didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or roll her eyes.

"There is a right way to do things, Amrothos. That wasn't it", she told him as she poured them some water in earthenware mugs. She frowned, "Not to mention, it will probably make me look really bad in their eyes. Brother, you don't even know what my position here is! You don't know about my circumstances. And then you go and make that little speech..."

She shook her head and her frown became a grimace. Everyone in Aldburg knew she was Éomer's mistress. Some of them were already aware she was pregnant with his child. And now Amrothos had gone and just dropped this information on them, which she had hoped to reveal delicately, with Éomer by her side!

Her dear, unsuspecting fool of a brother lifted his eyebrows as she gave him the drink.

"Why would they think badly of you? You're a princess! That should be just amazing and interesting to them!" he pointed out.

Lothíriel sighed. There really was no way about this, and she had already known she would have to tell her family the truth. The sooner she got on with it, the faster it would be over.

"Amrothos", she started slowly, "What did Lord Éomer tell you exactly? What did he say about my position here?"

Her brother shrugged nonchalantly, blissfully unaware of the news she was about to reveal.

"Well, there was talk about how your escort was attacked in the borderlands. You got away and wandered alone in the wild, until Éomer and his Riders found you. He brought you here and let you enter his service, as he thought you were an exile from west of Rohan. But soon enough he guessed you were hiding something more, and you revealed yourself to him. On your insistence, he allowed you to continue to pose as a servant, and that's how it went until war", Amrothos answered, balancing the mug on his chest.

She regarded her own drink and worried her lip. It was as she had expected, then. Éomer had said nothing about the real extent of their relationship... and he wasn't here to tell her why. She could only guess whether it had been out of spite or carefulness. However, he hadn't known she had conceived.

"There is more, Amrothos", she said at length, already dreading her brother's reaction.

"What do you mean?" he asked her warily, perhaps sensing he was about to hear something he didn't like.

"I am with child", Lothíriel announced, deciding it was better to get the worst out first.

At once, Amrothos' face turned a strange shade of purple. His eyes bulged, and then he shot up so fast the mug went flying to the ground. He was already grasping for his sword.

"What!" he yelled so loudly, the mice in the stables must have heard it. "Who did this to you, Lothíriel? Whose fault is it? I will kill him! Tell me who he is! I'm going to -"

He would no doubt have continued ranting and raving hadn't she got up as well, and took his hand in her own.

"He's in Gondor, brother. And you don't have to kill him. In fact, I imagine you would have very poor chances of succeeding. They say he's the best swordsman in the Mark, and these days he probably has twenty men guarding him all times", she said softly to him, watching his expression shift between horror and rage. Somehow, she wasn't surprised he had immediately assumed some man had taken her by force, though she rather disliked what it implied on his regard for Éomer. Amrothos still saw her as his naïve little sister, probably so repressed by years of noblewoman's education she would be horrified if a man tried to as much as to kiss her. It hadn't even occurred to him she might be the one who had made the fateful move in the first place!

When he spoke, his voice came out as a hiss, "Who is it, Lothíriel?"

"Éomer is the father of my child", she said in a stronger voice than she had thought herself capable of, and she met his eyes steadily. "I was his mistress. It was a mutual agreement, Amrothos. And the people of Aldburg knew about it. That's why it wasn't the best idea to announce my identity like that before them."

For a moment, she was worried a vein might pop in her brother's head. But he was a young, healthy man, so surely he'd be fine? If this was how Amrothos reacted, then it might just be wiser for her to run away as soon as possible than face her father. Maybe Bartas' offer for marriage was still open? At least Umbar would be always warm.

"How could you do that, Lothíriel? Are you insane?" her brother croaked at last, staring at her as though she had just spontaneously grown herself a second head. "That filthy villain! That _barbarian!_ All this time, I thought he was a good man who was guarding my only sister, and now you tell me he's a good for nothing scoundrel who takes advantage of defenceless women! And you let that happen! Don't you know better than this? Weren't you taught better?"

Now her ire rose, and she stood straighter, glaring at her brother as fiercely as only someone who knew Éomer intimately could.

"You have no right to judge me, Amrothos! I was alone! I had no one but him! I didn't even know when and if I might see you and our brothers and Father again! Éomer never did anything I didn't want him to, and he was always good to me! He would never have touched me if I hadn't asked! Don't you dare call him those names ever again!" she snapped angrily at him, and her brother flinched back. "Do not treat me like some gullible little girl. I have been here over a year, I have known Éomer for months! Don't you think I may know a bit more about his character than you possibly could?"

She threw her mug away, and it crashed against the wall, splattering water everywhere as the earthenware piece shattered to little pieces.

"You dare to stand there, disapproving of me and him as though we did something horrible! I may have been naive and innocent before I came here, but don't think I don't know about you and the women you go to meet at nights! At least I have the excuse of loving the man I bedded!" she screamed at him, her voice rising high and shrill. Meanwhile, Amrothos had gone pale as bone, and at the end of her last sentence, he more or less collapsed to sit on the bedroll again.

"Sister", he croaked hoarsely when she had fallen silent, and she stood breathing rapidly before him. "Surely you must see it's not very convenient that you're pregnant without even being married to the man."

Compared to his outburst of before, now he sounded utterly dispirited, though he still regarded her as though he had never seen her before now.

"Don't you think I maybe know that? It's my body where the inconvenience is happening!" Lothíriel informed him, half hysterical. She shook her head and took a deep, calming breath before continuing more steadily, "It's not like I planned this. I was taking precautions, but something must have gone wrong. You don't know what it was like, brother. With all this death and war, and not knowing if I would ever see home again... but he was there for me. And I loved him so much – I still do, in fact. It made all the sense in the world then."

"But why didn't he say anything of this to Father?" Amrothos asked, slightly more collected now.

"He doesn't know about the baby. I only found out after he had ridden to war", Lothíriel answered, her mind calming down once more, and she took seat next to him on the bedroll. "We... we parted in some not so nice terms. He thinks I do not care about him. I suppose that's why he didn't tell Father about us. I hope it means he wants to talk things through with me first. Amrothos, I know this all sounds scandalous, but truth is we wanted to get married. Before some very unfortunate events, Éomer fully intended to marry me."

She then proceeded to tell her brother about the long months of her exile, and how she and Éomer had grown closer, until at last they had confessed their feelings. She told him about the vows they had made to each other, and with a slightly trembling voice she described that horrible day in Edoras. When she explained how she had tried to ensure Éomer's safety by turning his love into hate, Amrothos wrapped an arm about her shoulders and muttered it would be all right.

"I'm sure he will listen to you once you just explain everything to him. He can't be so unreasonable that he wouldn't even give you a chance", he reassured her gently. "And if he is, well, then I really am going to kill him."

She let out a tearful little laugh. Even if Amrothos had been less than tactful upon his arrival here, he was still her brother and she had missed him dearly. It was good to be talking to someone who knew the real her, and a family member no less.

"Let's hope that won't be necessary. The baby should have both parents alive", she said and wiped a hand across her eyes.

She looked at him then warily, "Do you think our father will be very dismayed when he hears?"

"I don't think he'll be well pleased", Amrothos said at length, "but at this point, there isn't exactly much that he can do. It's too early to worry about that, though – we still have to make the journey back to Minas Tirith."

"How is Father? And our brothers?" she asked him, aching for the news of home. "I hope these months haven't been as hard for you as they were for me."

"We are all fine. Of course we missed you a great deal. Elbereth, I don't think I can ever tell you how much I missed you", Amrothos said, shaking his head and frowning. "That first month after you disappeared... it was the most horrible thing I've ever lived through. We mourned at first, and we were so angry with Father. We thought he had driven you to death. I wanted to keep looking for you, so that we could bury you properly... but he told us the Sea had taken you and you were beyond Bartas' reach. I blamed him for not protecting you. I suppose it was hardest on him, having to deal with our anger and being the only one who knew you were very much alive. And Aredhel was just heartbroken... she got sick soon after you went missing, and for a bit we thought we would lose her, too. But she got better when Father told her the truth. She was the first one he told, probably because he wanted to give her hope."

"What about our uncle?" she asked quietly, shivering at the memory of that fateful night that had sent her here.

"He was furious, of course. There went his wonderful plan, washed down Anduin as he perceived! But he couldn't do nothing. That pirate lord Bartas wouldn't agree to have a bride any lesser than a princess of the line of Galador, and that was the end of their alliance. However, there were greater concerns in the land at the time, and so Uncle declared you dead", her brother continued, his expression dark as though he was remembering something very unpleasant.

"About a month and a half had gone by when Father gathered us three in his study and told us what had really happened to you. At first, we couldn't believe it. I had never thought he could be so cunning! Elphir and Erchirion thought it had been too dangerous and they wanted to send messengers after you. They wanted to know if you had got to Rohan safely. But Father forbade it – he said the roads would be watched and a messenger from Dol Amroth to Aldburg would not go unnoticed. He was afraid it would compromise your safety and disguise. I suppose it had to do with our uncle, too. You see, he was growing more... well, more queer. And Father was afraid he would punish you somehow for daring to disobey him. Meanwhile, the threat of war became more real with each passing day, and all roads were so unsafe, he didn't think it wise to call you back anyway. He thought you would be safer in Rohan. I didn't like it at all but we had no choice", he continued his explanation and leaned his head against the wall. She listened quietly, thinking back on those long months that lay now behind them. Today, her exile had truly ended. How soon would she get used to that idea?

"And then the war came", she said softly, pulling her knees against her chest.

"Yes, it very much did. Corsairs ravaged the coast, our scouts brought news of great forces gathering in Mordor, and Orodruin was spitting out smoke and fire like never before... the very air was thick with it. We were there at the Battle of Pelennor fields, and I'm still having nightmares about it. We barely made it alive, and that is only thanks to Rohirrim. Hadn't they arrived when they did... well, the city would have fallen, and it wouldn't have mattered whether Lord Aragorn got there or not. They held back the Enemy's armies long enough, though it was with a terrible price. I've never seen so many dead bodies, or heard such wailing", Amrothos said, and for once she could hear _fear_ in his voice. Lothíriel couldn't remember ever seeing or hearing him being scared of anything – except maybe Uncle Denethor. However, this was fear of a different kind, and it went deeper than bones and courage of men.

"Apparently Father and Éomer met after the battle, and next day, when his sister was a bit better, he came to see us in our town house. Your horselord told us what I now see is the _very_ tidied up version about your stay here. Then Father told me to stay behind when he and Elphir rode for the Black Gate. I was very angry with this decision, but he decided at least one of us needed to stay behind in case... well, in case things went badly. And, if things went fine – which they did, as we both know – he wanted me to come to get you. So, as soon as the news reached Minas Tirith, I took a few of Father's men and set to travel here. He'll try to get to the city as soon as possible, so that we may meet him there. He's very anxious to get you home", her brother concluded his explanation. No doubt they would later on talk more in detail about the months that had passed, but this tale satisfied her most urgent desire for news.

Now Lothíriel looked up at Amrothos. She could see he was watching her differently – he had already realised she wasn't the girl he used to know. With some bittersweetness, she felt things would never go back to way they used to be before her exile, not even among her own family. She had lost her innocence, both in her own eyes and in his, too. She was not a child anymore, who needed him to teach how to defend herself. But then, such thing would never have survived the war.

"You must realise, though", she spoke softly, touching his hand gently, "that I can't go home now. That bridge has burned behind me. The best we can hope is Éomer will marry me in Minas Tirith, and... and I return to Rohan as his queen."

Amrothos frowned – obviously he didn't like the idea.

"So, after all this time you're just going to give up your home, Lothíriel? You won't even look back?" he asked, sounding like he wanted to be angry, but couldn't muster the emotion.

"I gave it up months ago, brother. I can't go back, even if I wanted to. Uncle took care of that", she said, and she knew she sounded bitter. He grunted and wrapped his arm about her again, and she leaned her head against his. There they sat, both grieving things that were gone forever.

"I don't suppose even Father ever realised what it would cost us to send you here. What it would take from us", Amrothos muttered in a quiet, sad voice.

"Probably not", Lothíriel said softly. For whatever reason, this moment she felt more homeless than ever. "But we will carry on."

* * *

The two Amrothians spent the afternoon together, deeply absorbed in their conversations. They talked about the months that now lay behind them, and Lothíriel described her life in the Mark. At times, a frown passed across the face of her brother. She could guess its reason: he did not like the fact that a princess of their line had lived so humbly, acting as a servant in a war-chief's hall. It also made her worry what Father's reaction would be. However, she reminded herself of something Éomer had told her when she had doubted: she had done the best she could in impossible circumstances.

They headed out an hour or so before dinner, as Lothíriel wanted to show Amrothos around in the Hall before they'd go and eat supper.

However, they did not get very far, as on the corridor they came across no one else than Athilda. Lothíriel had not spoken to her since that awful day she had been taken to Edoras, as she had felt no words would be of any use. But now, as her departure from the Mark grew close, she felt otherwise. She felt like she needed to put some kind of an end to this relationship which had been unpleasant from start to finish; for if she was to return to this land, it would not be as a servant or the Lady of Aldburg. Athilda would be her concern no more.

The chatelaine kept her eyes before her, looking like she was going to pass the two siblings as though she was not aware of their existence. However, Lothíriel touched Amrothos' arm and halted before the older woman, effectively blocking her way.

"Athilda", she spoke the name of the chatelaine, her voice cool and strong. It was the way her mother would speak to their subjects, long ago in a time all had been simple and she had been but a small, sheltered girl in the safe court of her father. Months and months she had tried to win at least the approval, if not the favour of this woman, and it had been for nothing.

Meeting calmly the cool eyes of the chatelaine, she continued, "I was wondering if you wanted to apologise."

"Apologise? For what?" Athilda asked warily, and though she looked like she was trying to mask her emotions, Lothíriel could glimpse some uncertainty about her.

"You compromised Lord Éomer. You sent me into the hands of his most bitter enemy, and you considered the consequences of your actions no further than the petty retribution you would immediately get. And you nearly cost me my life", said the princess, her voice rising – not in pitch, but in force. She knew well one didn't have to shout to get their point across impressively.

"Girl –" Athilda started, but Lothíriel cut her short quickly.

"I'm no girl! I am Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, and you will disrespect me no more", she said, and somehow, whether it be by her words or by her very tone, Athilda flinched as though she had slapped her. The woman before her diminished, grew lesser somehow, and in a way Lothíriel felt like she had been freed of some burden she had not noticed carrying. The chatelaine looked away and said nothing.

The princess let out a small breath and crossed her arms on her chest.

"After today I do not intend to think of you again. But I hope you will think of what you did, and what it nearly cost us all. And have no doubt – Lord Éomer will know the full truth of what you did to us. May Béma help you then", Lothíriel said at last, and then she turned to look at her brother. He had observed this scene silently, and his eyes were wide and wondering. She linked her arm with his and turned away from Athilda.

"Come along, brother. I think they will be serving dinner soon", she said to him, and with that they made way for the hall.

* * *

Two days after Amrothos and his company had arrived in Aldburg, they were set to leave again.

It was all very abrupt, and truthfully this was not how Lothíriel had imagined leaving her refuge. But her brother was dying to get back to Gondor already, and he kept telling her their father would be anxious for their return. And she couldn't deny she was eager to see her family after being parted from them for so long. However, now there was not exactly time to say goodbye properly to the place she had come to regard her second home, even if she held on to the hope she would be back to Rohan soon.

Éomer's steward, Master Frithestan was his name, was not happy about her departure.

"My lady, I truly do not think you should go", he told her after she and Amrothos had properly explained him everything. He had accepted the story rather easily, perhaps because the mere presence of Amrothos and the resemblance between the two siblings was hard to deny.

"Master Frithestan, there really is no way my sister can stay here any longer. The reason for her exile no longer exists, and our father wants to see her", Amrothos put in, making the old Rohir frown.

"But Prince Amrothos, you must see our point of view as well. She is Lord Éomer's lady, and she is bearing his child. He would want her to stay here, where we can keep her safe until his return", the steward argued, his gaze shifting between their faces in concern.

"But I'm not his wife yet, Frithestan. I have duty to my family, and my father would needlessly worry if I did not go to see him. Not to mention, I _want_ to see him. It has been so long since our ways parted, and there is much I should tell him", Lothíriel said for her part. The elderly man still didn't look convinced, and she reached to touch his shoulder reassuringly. She continued, "Not to mention, the situation has changed since I last talked with Lord Éomer. I think he would like to know about my pregnancy before half of Rohan does. I should be able to meet him in Minas Tirith, once he returns there, and talk things through with him."

At last the steward sighed and nodded, even though he still didn't seem entirely happy with this.

"I will make sure you'll have enough provisions for your journey", he promised, and the two siblings thanked him heartily.

There was also someone else she owed an explanation – _three_ someone else's, to be precise. The very day of Amrothos' arrival, when the two had exchanged the most urgent tidings, Lothíriel had sought out her friends once more.

All three of them looked like they had been waiting for her to make an appearance. A wondering look remained on Aengifu's face, while Derehild seemed like something she had long suspected had just been confirmed. But Saethryd's usually carefree expression was a dark one and her mouth was a thin line.

"Well", Lothíriel started, knowing she'd have to be the one to break the awkward silence which had fallen between them – a strange sensation, as the girls had always been talkative and comfortable in her presence. She cleared her throat, and went on, "I take it you have already heard?"

"Aye. We've heard and are still working on believing", Aengifu said at length, glancing at her friends. "A princess? Really?"

"Yes. I'm sorry I lied about who I am. We just thought it would be safer that way... and I didn't want to put you in danger, or make you bear the burden of my secret", Lothíriel said, feeling a sudden lump in her throat. She had thought this would be a relief, to finally be able to speak the truth honestly. However, looking at the faces of her friends, she felt no joy. Most likely it was because how warily they gazed at her now. They had always been so sincere and natural with her, and now they stared at her like she was a stranger.

"So Lord Éomer knew?" Derehild asked her.

"He did, though not from the beginning. But eventually I had to tell him everything. That's how the whole affair about me being his mistress started. We had to come up with a way to make sure I could stay here as long as I needed to", Lothíriel answered and looked down. It was not easy talk about her lover when she missed him so much – when his absence was like a wound that wouldn't heal.

"But you two actually fell in love", Aengifu stated in a quiet voice. As an answer, the princess could only nod.

There was a silence between them, long and rather awkward. Lothíriel wondered if she should be making more apologies, or if her friends expected there was more behind this all. Eventually, Aengifu spoke up, her voice bordering on hysterical: "What's it like, being a princess?"

"It sounds better than it actually is", Lothíriel said with a weak little smile.

"And you'll be going back to Gondor now?" Derehild asked.

"Well, my father wants to see me. And I want to see him, too. It's been so long since we parted... we didn't exactly expect my stay here to last so long", said the princess, her voice growing more uneasy as she spoke. "After all that has happened, I can only marvel at how optimistic we were. But even then, I owe you three so much. I think I would probably have lost it long time ago already if you hadn't been there for me."

"Aye, we were there for you", Saethryd said loudly, speaking now for the first time. "We befriended you, kept you company, defended you, and we always helped you! Yet none of that was enough you to actually speak truth!"

"I understand if you're upset. But it's not like I wanted to lie. I just thought it was the only sure way to keep you from harm's way. It's one thing to endanger myself but I can't let it affect you as well", Lothíriel said, her voice not as strong as she would have liked. Somehow, it didn't surprise her that Saethryd would be the one to take this badly.

"Do you think danger would have mattered to us? I thought you were our friend! Friends trust each other! I think the only reason you didn't tell us was because you didn't think we could keep your secret!" Saethryd growled now and stepped forward, but the princess stood her ground.

"I never thought that. It's not that I didn't trust you. Saethryd, I... it was hard enough to have left behind everything I had known. It was easier to blend in when you believed in my tale. It would have been one thing if I was just worried for my own life, but I had promised my father I'd be careful. And I had to think what it might cause if I something happened to me here. That would have been on Éomer. Please, try to understand. I had no choice", she said, seeking the eyes of her friend in distress but finding no sympathy in them.

"Understand! I understand perfectly well!" growled the serving maid, and her fierce expression had Lothíriel half convinced she might just go for her throat. Saethryd's voice almost became a scream, "Don't you try to justify your lies to me! I think Lord Éomer had the right idea about you in the end!"

And with that, Saethryd stormed off, making her way like a tempest. The princess did not try to stop her, and at any rate, she didn't think she _could_ have said or done anything. Quietly she stood, staring at the ground and trying to fight the tears that were building up in her eyes. And she waited for the moment when Aengifu and Derehild too would agree to what Saethryd had said.

But then there was a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she saw Aengifu next to her.

"She'll come around", said the serving maid softly.

"Do you want us to talk to her?" Derehild asked for her part, but Lothíriel shook her head.

"She has a right to be angry. I knew lying to you was wrong", she said softly.

"Well, for what it's worth, I think you probably made the right decision in not telling us. I don't think it would have been easy to keep a secret like that. It would have been horrible if you had been exposed because of us", Aengifu said, her voice comforting. The dark-haired woman looked up and managed to give her friends a weak smile.

"Thank you. It's true what I said – your friendship did help me to get through this. It's Saethryd's doing, too. She's the one who first talked to me when I came here", Lothiriel said and wiped at her eyes, determined not to cry. "I won't forget how much I owe you."

She wrapped her arms about her friends and closed her eyes, thankful in knowing at least she hadn't lost everyone she cared about in this land.

* * *

Next morning, the time to go home had arrived at last.

When Lothíriel surfaced from dreams and she remembered what was to happen today, she could hardly believe it. In silence she stared at the wooden panels of the ceiling – the sight which had greeted her on so many, many mornings now. Tomorrow, it would be a clear sky above her when she woke up. What a strange thing it was, to prepare for the road once more.

She got up slowly, drawing out every motion, and stopping to look at the most everyday objects she had around her. It didn't seem unreal, that this should be the day she was leaving. Surely one of her friends would come knocking at the door, telling her she'd be late for breakfast and thus the day's work? Surely she'd see Athilda's sour face and at the end of the day, she would feel relieved as she settled in Éomer's arms?

A choking sensation came to her and she wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly desperate for his presence. Elbereth, how she missed him! It seemed like since Edoras, she had been trapped in some sort of a half-life, and even Amrothos' arrival couldn't fully restore her. But then, for a blessed little while she had tasted how life could be like, and compared to those months with Éomer everything else seemed grey. And yet she had to ask: wasn't this what she had wanted? Wasn't going home the thing she had ached for so many months? Her true life as a princess, where she didn't have to hide anything... strange as it was, going back now hurt as much as it had hurt to leave Dol Amroth. Trust her warped luck to make it so!

 _It's not forever. I'll see Éomer in Minas Tirith, I'll explain everything to him, and we'll come back together,_ she thought to herself. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm down. She couldn't do it again – she couldn't give up and say goodbye to yet another life and home. She would hold on to this land and its people, to the way of life she had grown to understand and even love.

It was not long after that Aengifu arrived to help her to dress. Lady Scýne had indeed gifted her with several gowns which were not only made for an expecting mother, but also more fitting for a noble woman to wear. These garments required more help however, but thankfully her friend had promised to aid her.

"Are you excited to go back to Gondor?" Aengifu asked when she was lacing up the gown.

"To be honest, I'm not sure what I feel", Lothíriel admitted quietly, and a frown grew on her face. "It's just... I don't know where I belong anymore. I can't go back where I came from, not like this at least. I'm pregnant but there is no guarantee the father of my child will agree to meet me. Do you see my problem?"

"Have faith, princess. It's not over yet, and we both know you _can_ make him listen to you", Aengifu reassured her. The serving maid smiled, "I'd say he's too much in love with you to just let you go. I think you can count on that."

"Let's hope so", Lothíriel said softly.

"Personally, I'm just disappointed I don't get to see the royal wedding. What a disappointment! It's the first time in forty years we have a new king in the land and we don't even get to gossip about his bride or the wedding! My lady, it better be royal twins there in your belly. I think that may be the only thing to make up for what you and that king of yours have done to us", Aengifu said lightly as she proceeded to braid her friend's hair into a simple plait. Lothíriel couldn't help but laugh at her friend's words.

"I won't make any promises, but we'll see", she said warmly, thankful for this little distraction from what was ahead.

When Aengifu was done, Lothíriel stood up and looked at the serving maid. She wished for the words that would contain all the gratitude that she felt, but nothing seemed sufficient. So she just reached to hug her friend and held her tight.

"Thank you. For everything", she whispered into Aengifu's ear, and in her heart she knew this friendship would never break. It had even endured her secrets and lies, and at times it had been what had kept her sane.

"You're welcome", Aengifu said softly. There were tears in both their eyes, but they wouldn't let them fall. Now was not a time for tears, and anyway they would see each other again.

Much of the morning passed in that way, as Lothíriel was reluctant to move on. Though she was certain to return, she couldn't help but take an extra moment with everything she did, and paying special attention to things around her. She gazed at the tapestries of the hall one last time, admired the woodwork once more. She closed her eyes and listened to the lively sounds of Rohirric – the tongue that had once made so little sense to her and was now familiar and dear. No matter how long she would stay in Minas Tirith, she would miss this place anyway.

Amrothos seemed to sense her mood at breakfast, but he didn't try to make her talk, and so the meal passed mostly in silence. All too soon it was done, and it was time to head out.

The morning was rather fair, with clear skies and little to no wind. The horses were ready and waiting in the courtyard, loaded with provisions for the journey. Amrothos looked anxious to get to going, as did the knights accompanying him, but Lothíriel decided they could wait for a bit. She wasn't going to leave without proper goodbyes. Aengifu and Derehild were present, but of Saethryd there was no sight. This did not much surprise Lothíriel. While it was generally hard to upset or offend Saethryd, those times she considered herself wronged, she would hold tight to her anger. However, it wasn't like she could blame her friend. She only hoped it would be possible to make amends some time in the future.

And so, after one last hug, Derehild patted her shoulder and urged: "You must get going. You have a long road ahead of you."

Seeing it was senseless to prolong this farewell, Lothíriel pulled back at last. She gave her friends a tearful little smile.

"I will see you again soon. Keep this place up and running, will you?" she said, to which both her friends said a multitude of affirmative things, but it was slightly incoherent due to the tears they were fighting.

"Safe travel! Béma keep you and guard you!" Derehild said, and Aengifu might have said something similar, but it was hard to tell when she was practically sobbing the words. But Lothíriel mounted her horse, knowing the sooner they started for the road, the better. It was already painful enough, and she didn't want to leave her friends, bawling like a child.

"And you as well! Goodbye!" she called to them, and then she urged her steed to move, wishing to leave this place behind as quickly as she could – if she lingered, it would be that much worse, and that much harder to ride out. Amrothos and the knights followed suit, leading their horses after her. But Lothíriel kept her eyes fixed before her, and she never looked behind.

So they rode, down the hill and eventually out of the gates, until it was the Great West Road before them and the green plains rolling to horizon. After so many months of uncertainty, Lothíriel was finally leaving the place where she had found refuge and love and _life,_ and tears streamed down her face as Aldburg at last fell behind.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** And here is an update! It ended up much longer than I thought it would. Also I meant to write more from Éomer's POV, but I had to put an end somewhere, and I felt like this chapter was the right place to conclude Lothíriel's stay in Rohan. I believe there will be more of him in the next chapter!

So, Lothíriel's exile has now come to an end. I believe everyone's still too bewildered to really know what to think, though at least certain someones are not delighted. I must admit, as a writer I feel a bit weird to have got this story to this point.

I would say that of Lothíriel's family, Amrothos is the most likely to be least shocked to find out she's pregnant. Of course, he is surprised and dismayed at first, but he also sees she has changed a great deal, and the way she talks about Éomer has him considering maybe it can be fixed.

* * *

 **sailor68 -** I'm afraid I'm on a fairly malicious mood right now! :D But I think it will all make sense in due time. You are right indeed - they will have to endure this parting for a while still!

 **eschscholzia -** I was rather dropping hints it would go there sooner or later! And when planning this part of the story, it felt like the most natural way for it to progress (reasons for that will be revealed later on).

I never thought Brithwen was a particularly bad person. She just made a mistake, but she's hoping she can fix it.

And yes, I imagine the confrontation between Éomer and Imrahil will be an interesting one once they find out about her pregnancy!

 **pbbalboa -** I'm sorry, I can't help it! :D

 **EStrunk -** I wanted to write more from his POV here, but there were certain things I had to get out, and eventually a cut was necessary. But the next chapter should have more of him!

Lothíriel's situation was indeed a pretty grim one, or at least she thought so. However, now she has hope it will turn out better than she first perceived.

 **Anon -** I cannot say much about what is going to happen next! At the very least, Éomer is rather heartbroken at this time, and I'm not sure even he knows how he'd react to seeing her! I think the characters as well as the readers will just have to hold on right now, though it is difficult. As for what will happen now - I can only say the story will tell that when the time is right.

 **coffeebookchiller -** I'm glad you liked it! Yes, the situation was really not a very good one for Brithwen to reach him, though she might have been able to relieve his mind a great deal.

Lothíriel's brothers have known she's alive for months now, or at least the fact she was sent into hiding. But they are very happy to know she's safe in Aldburg. Hope you liked her reunion with Amrothos!

 **Hobbitpony1 -** Thanks! Happy to hear you are enjoying it. :)

 **pulchritudo in omnia -** This part of the story did turn out a lot more angsty than I originally intended. And the circumstances of him being away in war does prolong it. We'll see how things turn out! As for the timeline, we are in early April now.

 **dreamlesssleep -** I'm glad you think so! But how soon they can be reunited - well, wait and see! :)

 **berry-cool -** At the very least, she's travelling for Minas Tirith now. But the story can't be hurried, no matter how much we would like to see them reunited quickly.

 **Guest -** Indeed there is!

 **Wondereye -** Glad to hear you liked it. As to how things will go - the story will have to tell that!

 **Crime of Passion'06 -** I try to update as fast as I can, but a story like this takes its time. I hope at least this chapter answers some of your questions. But I'm glad to know you are enjoying the story so much!

 **meldisil -** And here you go! :)


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

 _3019 April, Minas Tirith_

After many long days on the road, they finally saw the White City basking in the bright afternoon's light. It had been a trying journey, especially with Lothíriel's shifting moods, which was not helped by how uncomfortable she often felt with the various changes her pregnancy was slowly causing in her body. She lost her temper with Amrothos almost every day, and one night she felt so miserable she sobbed until her brother appeared on her side and stroke her hair until she fell asleep. Rationally, she knew it would get better once they reached their destination and especially if she should meet Éomer there, but it wasn't much of a help on the days she woke up feeling wretched or she was sore in the places she hadn't even known existed in her body.

Consequently, their first glimpse of Minas Tirith made her want to weep in joy. There it was at last! After so many months, she was back in the world of her childhood, even if the last time she had properly entered the city had been when she was still a small girl. However, here she wouldn't have to pretend anything or hide her identity.

Lothíriel glanced at her brother, who was staring at the city with vague relief as well. He was probably just as glad to be here as she was. At least, he wouldn't be stuck travelling with a moody pregnant woman any longer.

"Do you think Father is in the city already?" she asked him hopefully, remembering that last sight of their sire she had taken when her exile had begun. How long ago it seemed now! The girl who had slipped away that night had vanished indeed – perhaps she was still wandering on the plains of the Mark, searching for salvation. At times during their journey, she had even wondered if Father would recognise her at all.

"At least he promised to get here as soon as he was able", Amrothos said and shrugged. He then looked at her, his eyes briefly resting on her midsection which had started to swell more noticeably, and he frowned, "What are you planning to tell him?"

Lothíriel sighed. She rather hated knowing this was sure to shadow her reunion with Father. How many times she had imagined it during her exile? It had always been such a joyous, relieving scene in her mind. But as soon as Father realised she was with child... well, there would be no song and games then.

"It depends on whether he has a stroke when he sees me or not", she muttered wryly and shook her head. "I'll just have to hope the honest truth is good enough for him. There simply is no right way to reveal something like this."

Worrying her lip, Lothíriel went through the possible outcomes. Was it a fool's hope to wish all he had seen of late would make it easier for him to accept what she had done? That his regard for Éomund would yield some pardon for her and Éomer? Maybe a promise of another grandchild would overwhelm him enough to distract him from outrage.

"It was his idea to send me to Rohan in the first place. So he can't be very angry, can he?" Lothíriel muttered and looked down at her hands, which gripped her reins.

"Don't worry, sister. You _are_ his only daughter, and he was always softer on you than me or our brothers", Amrothos said to her comfortingly.

"But it still leaves Éomer. Even if everything goes all right with Father, I will have to see the father of my child and explain to him why I treated him like garbage", she said, cringing as she spoke – even now, her mind kept shifting between hope and dread when she thought of meeting him again. He could very well still be furious with her and refuse to listen to anything she had to say.

"Lothíriel, what little I got to see him after the battle, he seemed rather decent to me. He was very polite to our family. I think there's a good chance your confrontation will be perfectly pleasant", Amrothos reassured her. Then he continued, wearing a slight smile now, "And if you ask me, that little horselord which is making you so grumpy these days might just plead your case for you."

The princess made a vague sound in response as they rode towards the city. Her brother had told her of a great battle before the walls of Minas Tirith, but signs of it had been cleaned up remarkably well: there were no bodies remaining on the vast fields, but she saw the great mounds, marking the sites where the fallen were buried. However, many burned homesteads remained still waiting for the mending hands, and gazing at the city she could see where the siege engines had hammered it. She shivered as she tried to picture Amrothos' descriptions of how the fields had been crawling with Enemy's armies, possessed of the single purpose of tearing down the City of Kings. It all sounded like a living nightmare. And to think Éomer had been here, riding over these fields and at last gaining victory with Lord Aragorn and Imrahil her father! Deeds worthy of songs had been done on this field indeed.

On their way towards the fifth level of the city, Lothíriel saw additional signs of the battle, but more than that her eye was drawn to _people._ She knew in last few years, Minas Tirith had been in serious decline. Making the city fair and prosperous had not been Lord Denethor's priority when there was a constant threat in the east, and Father had once said the capital of Gondor housed now so few compared to the days of glory. However, it looked like the ending of the war had injected new life and hopefulness into the very stones this settlement. The marketplace they passed by was full of bustle, common folk crowded at stalls and wells and went by in their chores, and here and there they saw children in the middle of their games. It was a hopeful picture indeed, and Lothíriel felt her mood lighten a bit. Only a year before now, all this would have been next to impossible.

They passed through the city quickly enough and her mind grew more uneasy again as they reached the upper levels. It was in good part because if Father was in the city, then she'd be seeing him very soon. But it was also because even with her hood and cloak, there was a chance she would be recognised by other members of nobility who, according to her brother, had started to return to the city as soon as the battle was won. It would be enough of a sensation that she was alive; she didn't even want to think of the stir in the society once it became clear she was pregnant. Even if Éomer should return this very day and they were married tomorrow, there was no hiding the fact the child had been conceived outside wedlock. They were not even formally betrothed, which might have earned her some pass.

 _We're going back to Rohan after all this. It's not going to matter there,_ she told herself. As long as she and Éomer knew what was what, everything else was insignificant.

Like the most noble families, the town house of Princes of Dol Amroth was located on the fifth level of the city. Lothíriel did not remember much of the place, and there was chance she wouldn't even have found her way without Amrothos. A small, slightly hysterical part of her mind suggested her to go running now while she still had a chance. Surely Father would be furious with her? Oh, Elbereth, he would probably kill her!

"Don't worry, sister. It's going to be all right", said her brother gently, having noticed her growing anxiety.

"Yes", she muttered under her breath, "It would be poor taste to murder a pregnant woman, wouldn't it?"

"He's not going to murder you. Just remember to breathe", Amrothos told her firmly. He looked ahead then, and a faint smile touched his face, "Ah, here we are now. There's the gate of our town house."

Lothíriel managed only a low groan at that. But there was no avoiding this, and she had to see Father sooner or later. And postponing it would only make things worse.

At Amrothos' request to be allowed to enter, the gates were swung open and the company rode into the small courtyard. Lothíriel's heart hammered away as she gazed about herself, her eyes already seeking for one familiar face she had been missing and now dreading. Any moment now Father would appear, summoned by one of the servants of the household...

Amrothos reached for her waist to help her down, placing her on the ground carefully as though he was afraid she'd break. Though he was not entirely untroubled about how this situation had turned out, she felt he was secretly glad to become an uncle again – and to get Rohirric relatives through her.

The princess stretched her limbs, stiff from the long hours of riding. No matter how her reunion with Father would turn out, she was glad for the prospect of a hot bath and getting to sleep in a real bed tonight.

And then her brother called out: "Father! Over here!"

She turned sharply, her eyes seeking frantically... and then she saw him at the doorway of the house! There stood her father at last, staring at her and Amrothos. He was mostly the same as she remembered, but there were new lines on his face and a breath of frost in his dark hair. Months that had passed had not been easy on him, either, and in his eyes there was some new sadness she hadn't seen before. And she remembered the night she had last seen him; how tight he had held her hand, and how long he had hugged her before lowering her into the boat with her knights... his voice when he had told her to be careful and come back alive.

Tears were already flowing down her cheeks, and she cried out: "Father! Father!"

She was running now, hastening to meet her sire after so many long months. Oh, Elbereth! She had got to live this moment after all!

In tearful joy she threw her arms about her father, and at first she was too beside herself to notice how stiff his reaction was. But eventually it occurred to her he wasn't hugging her in the same fashion, nor was he telling her anything like he had missed her or that he was glad she was back. So eventually she pulled back in growing alarm and looked at the face of her sire.

And there she saw that mortification and horrified surprise she had dreaded as she had thought of this moment. He had already realised his innocent little daughter was not quite so virtuous anymore.

"Father, I can explain", she said quickly, but those words did not seem to even occur to him.

"Lothíriel, who did this to you?" he asked her loudly, and the question made her heart sink. Of course it had been a foolish hope to wish Father wouldn't react like this. But then, maybe he'd relent like Amrothos had relented?

"Please calm down, Father. It's not as bad as you think", she told him, trying to keep her voice soft and gentle, but it seemed to have no impact.

"Daughter, answer me immediately!" he almost shouted, making her wince. This was even worse than she had dared to imagine!

"It's Lord Éomer's child", she said, growing concerned when she saw his eyes bulge. Yes, a stroke was a possibility here! So she hurried to add, "I swear, it's not what you think! He didn't force me in any way! Yes, we were lovers, but I didn't plan to get pregnant, and we were going to get married! He was supposed to travel with me to Dol Amroth and ask for your blessing. I know how this looks like to you, but please, try to understand."

It didn't come out at all like she had meant. It even sounded bad to her own ears! For the longest time, Father just stared at her. His face was white as bone, but his eyes were dark and thunderous. She suppressed a sigh, knowing this would not be easy or pleasant.

Then at last he moved. He gripped her by shoulder and pulled at her, motioning to get into the house.

"Inside. Now."

* * *

Father did not speak another word before they had reached his study. It was an airy space in the second floor, with a view over the city and the Pelennor fields. While it was smaller than his official one back in Dol Amroth, it didn't lack any of the comforts.

Once Father had her seated and poured himself a drink, he flashed her a stern glance.

"Explain", was the only thing he said, and so Lothíriel began to talk. She described the long months of her exile, the loneliness she had felt, and her growing affection for Éomer. She spoke of the nights spent in her beloved's chambers, of the promises they had made to each other, and the reasons they had justified their actions to themselves when they had started their affair. Through her story, Father remained by the window, staring out and occasionally sipping his drink.

When she fell silent, he said nothing. Father stood still, his eyes fixed on whatever it was outside he had kept glaring at. One might even have wondered if he had forgotten about her presence, but Lothíriel made no such mistake.

"Father?" she asked at last, her voice soft and gentle, "Father, I understand if you are disappointed and angry with me. But please, do not blame Éomer for anything. He was always good to me and he truly loved me. He was my friend and companion when I had no one else, and from the start he put my safety before his own needs and happiness. I believe we can figure this out once he returns to Minas Tirith. We can still fix this."

"You, daughter", Father spoke at last, his tone colourless and heavy, "are not going to fix anything. You are going straight south on the first ship that leaves from Harlond."

"No!" she exclaimed, jumping up on her feet. "Father, I _have_ to be here! I need to see Éomer! If you'd just let me talk to him -"

Her sire turned around sharply, and he spoke loudly over her words: "You have seen enough of him. You have talked enough."

She fell silent and stared at him, her eyes desperately trying to find some warmth and compassion in his. But it was in vain.

"Father -" she tried, but again he interrupted her.

"How could you be so foolish and naive, letting that man use you like you were no better than some common wench?" he asked angrily, and his eyes blazed in a way she had never seen before. In a life before all this, it might have frightened her. But now Lothíriel found she was afraid of very few things.

"He did not use me! If you think Éomer is like that, then you don't know him at all! And he would never have touched me if I had not asked him to!" she snapped back at him.

"Then why didn't he tell me the truth? Why did he keep _this_ secret?" Father demanded to know, making a vague gesture at her belly.

"Maybe he's more decent than you give him credit! Maybe he actually thinks he should talk to _me_ first, instead of acting like Í was merely goods that cannot speak for itself!" Lothíriel furiously said, growing more hurt and disappointed by the second. The idea of seeing her father again had been what had got her through the painful days early in her exile, but now that the moment had finally arrived, it was bitter and hostile!

He slammed his drink on the desk, sending almost half of its contents splattering the parchments and scrolls on the table.

"Yes, _maybe!_ Or maybe he is having a laugh about it right now, spreading the tale of how easy it was to disgrace a princess of an ancient line!" he yelled, his face almost exactly that same shade of purple that Amrothos had sported when first hearing about her pregnancy. The look in his eyes was nearly mad in anger, and she knew then he wasn't going to _hear_ anything she had to say.

He spoke a bit more calmly then, "You have indeed disappointed me, Lothíriel. Don't you realise what you have done to yourself? To your family? Thanks to you, your kin will be the common laughing stock of Minas Tirith!"

"... you sent me there, Father. You told me to flee into a strange land and expected me to endure all of it on my own after a quiet and sheltered life among my family! You didn't even provide me with a promise of when I could come home! I was alone! I had lost everything I knew and held dear! And Éomer was there for me, he comforted me and made me happy again! Don't you judge me for loving the person who made my life worth living once more!" she angrily said to him, and once more tears filled her eyes. But they were cold, bitter tears, and all she could feel was _rage_ at how unjust all this was, how she couldn't get one moment of reprieve. What had she done to deserve these struggles that did not cease?

For a moment, Father stared at her, and she dared to hope _maybe_ he saw her point of view after all. She lifted her hand to reach for him, but then he shook his head and stepped away.

"All the same", he said in a firm, toneless way, "I'm sending you away immediately. Your aunt will take you to our villa, where you'll stay until the child is born. I will meet with your... paramour and try to sort out this mess."

"Father, please", Lothíriel whispered now, her earlier outburst already growing cold. "I have to see him. I need Éomer."

Prince Imrahil's face remained stoic, his eyes stern. And with a crushing feeling, she realised nothing she could say was going to change his mind.

"My decision is final. You will leave Minas Tirith first thing tomorrow."

* * *

Another day was nearing its end at the fields of Cormallen, close to the river Anduin. It was a fair place, full of blooming of the spring, and the wood was filled with fragrant smells. If one cared to leave the camp and its sounds, one would hear the soft whisper of wind in the leaves and see the glimmer of the last rays of the sun on the fresh green of new season. In such a fair place, it was hard to believe the land of Mordor was only a short march away.

Listening to the reports of his captains – consisting mostly of small brawls and other equally menial matters – Éomer was wondering if he should just dismiss the lot and make his way to the banks of Anduin. He kept returning there, restless and uneasy; there was no quiet or peace at the camp, where people were always around him, asking for this or that, wanting to give reports or just test his character as the new king, and he could scarcely hear his own thoughts.

The war was over. It had been the fragile hope of Men, that one day there would come a time without the Shadow. Often this hope had seemed like a foolish and unlikely thing, and many bitter days he had lived just waiting for the worst to happen. And yet, here he was, living at the other side of the war. The Enemy of the free peoples was defeated. In the mornings, when he woke up in this tent at the fields of Cormallen, Éomer still had to remind himself there were no battles to plan or strategies to negotiate with the other captains.

With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and tried to concentrate on the words of his lieutenants, though it was not easy to keep his focus. How could he worry over these entirely mundane things when even now, he kept waiting for something horrible to happen – perhaps a night raid by orcs, or the surviving Easterlings ambushing them... on the wilder moments, he went as far as imagining that by the aid of some secret device, the Dark Lord had been able to return, and his armies would descend on the Host of the West with vengeance. When hope had been so fragile for so long, he was afraid to trust it.

Eventually, Éothain dismissed the captains of éoreds camped here at Cormallen. Éomer paid only brief attention – he was too busy rubbing his forehead against the beginnings of another headache. Aragorn had already told him those would surely cease if his fellow king wasn't so tense and anxious all the time, but he had yet to figure out how to do that.

"I take it you didn't listen to a word of what was being said?" his captain asked, not even trying to hide his displeasure.

"There was something about a fist-fight and someone nearly drowned in Anduin after getting too drunk", Éomer muttered and leaned back his head.

His second in command pursed his lips and regarded him with a frown.

"The men would appreciate it if they knew their king cares. Just... try to relax for change, will you? Try to take joy in this. The war is over", Éothain attempted half-heartedly.

"Aye, it is. But the war ending doesn't just make everything better _._ Éothain... when we go home, you'll have your family waiting for you. But what do I got?" Éomer asked darkly. Indeed, how to savour the peace, even if he wanted it? How to _be_ at peace after a lifetime of war? It was more easily said than done, and he had forged himself like a blade for far too long to know how to unravel himself. To become soft, to find those parts of himself that were not grim or sharp or angry, had been miraculously easy with _her,_ but she was far away and the calm that had existed in her presence had been falsely made in the first place.

"You still have your life, and you have Rohan", his captain tried.

"Indeed! I have a realm of burned homes, and everyone is waiting for me to fix it! Aren't I just the luckiest bugger?" said the younger man, grimacing as he spoke.

His friend looked frustrated and he made a helpless gesture with his arms. He looked a bit like he might just want to hit his liege-lord over the head with the basin nearby. And who could blame him? Éomer knew his moods of late had not been easy to deal with. At least, it had seemed to help at first when he had explained the affair with _her_ to Éothain, which apparently had helped his friend to understand what was going on. But the truth could get him only so far, and the captain's patience was not endless.

Thankfully – for them both, perhaps – there were sounds at the entrance to the tent, and Aragorn entered, wearing a soft smile on his face. No longer arrayed in the shabby array of a Ranger, he appeared more like the king of Isildur's line. With the passing of the Ring, it seemed like he had also been freed at least of some of his many cares. And though the time Éomer had known him was short, he already felt like a bond had been forged between them to last for the rest of their lives.

"Thank Béma you're here, Lord Aragorn. Please deal with him", Éothain grumbled and headed out, muttering under his breath.

Aragorn lifted his eyebrows as he watched the captain leave the tent.

"Is something amiss with him?" he asked his friend, who had got up to pour them drinks.

"Nothing much – except the fact he thinks his king is an irritable ass", Éomer replied wryly and handed a glass of wine to his fellow king. Aragorn accepted the drink and took seat when the younger man gestured him towards a free chair.

"Do you want to be dealt with, brother?" Aragorn asked delicately, making Éomer snort as he too sat down.

"Well, I suppose you should, or he's going to be disgruntled with both of us", he said and sipped the wine. He was not particularly fond of this drink, though he had tasted it before in Meduseld; Uncle had always liked wine better than ale. It probably had to do with his father Thengel, who had tried his utmost to emulate a Gondorian lord. Many still lived who remembered that time, and he knew there would be concern among them if Éomer too would fancy the ways of the south over those of his own people. Indeed, in coming days, he would have to prove himself in many aspects. And he had no idea if he was up to that task.

"The war is over, Éomer. It's not wrong to take joy in that", said the older of two kings gently.

"Aye, but we both know there will be new wars. There are generations upon generations of hate between your realm and Sauron's allies in east and south. And they won't forget the Pelennor fields any time soon. Moreover, too many orcs fled the battlefield alive. We haven't seen the last of them yet", said the Rohir, frowning as he spoke. Oh, he knew well those wars wouldn't be like the one they had just won. The end of Sauron was also an end of an Age, end of many things good and evil and fair and dark. For better or worse, Rule of Men was now dawning. And if he wished to thrive, to find meaning, Éomer knew he would have to transform himself into a man of peace.

"Of course", Aragorn allowed, cradling his glass between his hands as a crease formed on his brow. "But it's not a concern for now. We'll face it when it comes."

Isildur's Heir looked up then, meeting Éomer's eyes, "Is that what troubles you, my friend?"

"If only it was just that!" said the young king of Rohan and shook his head. "Aragorn, what am I going to do with Éowyn? How should I help her?"

Thinking his sister, he felt even more troubled. He had asked her to join him at the fields of Cormallen, hoping that the general mood of hope and joy here would snap them both out of the things that weighed on their minds. Not to mention, he ached for the face of the one person he had left in this world. However, she had declined the invitation, making him wonder if she was still very weak from her injuries. Indeed, what should he do to aid her? What _could_ he do? Even now, he trembled at the memory of the despair in her eyes. What if it drove her to seek death again? And with that idea, guilt returned as well. Why hadn't he noticed it before? Why hadn't he done anything?

 _Why this, why that. One might think the fates owed you some answers._

"I do not think you need to be so worried about Éowyn. She was on the mend when we last saw her, and if you ask me, her final healing may be closer than you think. The Lady of the Shield-arm is strong and she will emerge from what is ailing her", said his friend steadily as a faint smile visited his face.

"All the same", Éomer said at length, slowly unravelling all that troubled him, "a part of me doesn't want to go home after all this. Because when I do, Rohirrim will be expecting me to heal our land. There are so many women and children who will never see their husbands and fathers again, and so many people have lost their homes and livelihoods. You saw it yourself – the Mark is bleeding from all the assaults we have suffered, and even if I could do it, it would take a lifetime to mend everything that has been broken by Isengard and Mordor."

"There's your new war, Éomer", Aragorn said gently. "You are a defender of Rohan, are you not? But you don't have to defend it alone. You know you can count on my help and support, whatever the coming days will bring. Gondor owes Rohan a heavy debt and we shall pay it. If you need grain and timber and livestock, you only need to tell me so. Prince Imrahil's fiefdom, especially inland, has fared well past few years – he should be glad to send anything you need for rebuilding. After all, he owes a personal debt to you after you sheltered his daughter and kept her safe."

While mostly his words were comforting, Éomer was not entirely consoled. Mentions of _her_ never sat well with him these days.

"I wonder if he's so glad to help when I tell him something that might just send him and all three of his sons after me with vengeance", he muttered darkly.

"Why would they do that? I got the impression you were in very good terms", Aragorn pointed out. Narrowing his eyes, and making the necessary connections right away, he inquired, "Does it have something to do with his daughter?"

Éomer rubbed his face with his free hand, trying to decide how he should answer his friend. Once more, he had to wonder at his own recklessness. And yet it wasn't like he didn't know what he had been thinking when he had first touched _her;_ at the time, it had made so much sense. He hadn't known things would turn out like this, nor he had guessed the sheer magnitude of the war. There were so many things he hadn't been able to guess and imagine when the princess had put her spell on him.

Knowing he could trust Aragorn's discretion, he cleared his throat and briefly explained the affair. While his friend already knew of her staying in Rohan, the part about her being his mistress he had not told anybody before now except for Éothain. While at times he had felt like spilling out everything would surely be a relief, until after the battle before the Black Gate there had been to much for him to worry about, and presently he didn't even know where he stood with _her._ It was really not the time to go confessing anything – except his closest friends, whose wisdom might help him to figure out what to do.

"So, not only has she posed as a servant of your household, she was also pretending to be your mistress – which she eventually became in practice as well", his friend concluded when the younger man had finished his explanation.

"It sounds even worse when you put it like that", Éomer muttered and he just _knew_ Imrahil was going to declare war on Rohan. "For the record, I did mean to marry her. But now I have no idea of what I should do with her. I don't even know if she wants to see me again."

Aragorn rubbed his chin thoughtfully, gazing at his glass of wine. At least, he did not seem judgemental or horrified. which was a minor victory in itself.

"You should talk to her before doing anything else, my friend, and clear everything out... make sure there's no chance of misunderstandings. Things should be easier to explain to her father as well, when you know where you stand with one another", said the older man at last and looked up at him.

"Aye. It is the only course of action that makes sense", Éomer said, leaning back his head and already dreading the confrontation in his future. It was also the only _right_ way, if he meant to take responsibility of his actions. No matter what had happened, or how she had revealed her true colours, he _had_ made these promises to her. As such, he had no choice but to offer to marry her immediately upon their reunion, if that was what she wanted.

Leaning his chin in the cup of his hand, he muttered, "I was such a fool, Aragorn. I should have known better. And I _did_ know better... just didn't care when it mattered. Now responsibility demands I should let someone like _her_ become a queen! I have no doubt she'll snatch that chance. After all, it's the opportunity of a lifetime."

"Don't resign yourself to resentment yet, Éomer. Who knows what impact these past weeks have had on her? She may very well surprise you yet", Aragorn said gently. Then a thoughtful look rose to his face, and he asked, "Do you think it's possible you were mistaken? Are you certain there is no chance of misunderstandings?"

Hearing the question, the Rohir frowned. While he couldn't deny it was an attractive idea, he couldn't allow such a sweet, merciful thing to pierce his mind. To think all this heartbreak might have been for nothing...! Quickly he rejected it, reminding himself of that day in Edoras. _She_ hadn't even looked at him. No, it was better to take things as they came, not live in some vague hope that maybe he had got it wrong. Everything that had happened with her had already tried him enough.

"I don't think so", he said at length and took a long gulp of his wine.

"But she _is_ Imrahil's daughter. Somehow I cannot believe any family of his could be so deceitful", Aragorn tried gently.

"Believe me, I didn't see it coming, either", Éomer said and grimaced at the memory. He had been so sure he _knew_ her... but he wasn't infallible. And he had plenty of proof of just how good she was at pretending.

He shook his head and downed the last of his wine. Then he looked at his friend, "Let's get out of here. None of this is going to get better by us fretting over it."

"You are quite right in that, Éomer", Aragorn stated and got up on his feet. With a wry smile, he added, "And Éothain is likely more willing to leave you alone if he sees you having a good time for change."

As an answer, the younger man snorted.

"That is a very compelling motive. The man is a complete menace", he remarked, and together the two kings headed out, hoping to leave their concerns behind if only for tonight.

* * *

It was already late that Éomer returned to his tent. He had let Éothain and several of his own Riders to pull him to their company, and quickly he had been sat down near a fire and a wineskin had been pushed into his hand. In the end, he found himself having a rather decent time that night. There was a voice at the back of his mind, and it sounded worryingly much like Éothain: _you might want to try that more often._

Éomer shut up the voice by reminding himself he wasn't going to be remembered as a king who drank away his nights while his people were still struggling to survive, but at least for tonight he had enjoyed their hard-won victory over the Enemy. There were long, difficult days ahead if he meant to restore the Mark, which was all the more reason to take joy in this brief time of abandon. There had also been a temptation to take it even further than that – he had seen a pair of women eyeing him appreciatively – but he didn't get drunk enough to discard all reason. As long as he didn't know where he stood with _her,_ he would have to stay away from those ladies who had arrived at the camp soon after the war had ended. Not that it wasn't alluring, and thanks to some of his men who were fond of over-sharing, he had already been the unwilling target of reports on how delightful said company was, but whoring away his days was yet another thing he didn't want to attach to his name. Sooner or later the story about _her_ would become common knowledge, and giving in to such temptations would surely give the tale a delicious spin.

His tent was located at the centre of the camp, next to the one occupied by Aragorn himself. Guards were posted there at all times, and they bowed their heads when he arrived. His esquire had left some candles burning for his arrival and there was fresh water at the corner. Some pieces of portable furniture had been brought for him, and curtains served as walls to divided the sleeping quarters from the main area. Éomer was hardly used to such comforts when camping during some war campaign, but apparently it was required now that he was king.

Having washed away the taste of wine from his mouth with some water, he blew out the candles and made for the sleeping area. After undressing and leaving his clothes on a chair at the foot end of the cot, he lay himself down and sought for a comfortable position. Mostly, the camp had already fallen quiet and the world was still. But his mind was not, and unbidden the thought came: where was _she_ tonight? Was she travelling for Mundburg, or had she already reached the city? He had no idea of what their next meeting would be – if she would be hateful, or try to get back to his good graces. He couldn't guess what version of her she would present him with then, and what would be his reaction to it. Try as he might to keep her away, Éomer couldn't exactly deny a part of him desired to see her – desired her to make him keep his word. Because then, he could have her again. At least at night she would be his once more... Béma, even now he wanted her madly!

That little voice kept muttering on, conjuring the opportunities he'd have once she was in Edoras... mightn't her heart grow softer eventually, if he tried hard enough?

 _You idiot. Why don't you just go and jump head first in Anduin and be done with it._

Rolling to his side and gripping the edge of the blanket in his fist, Éomer tried to empty his mind and think of nothing. She already haunted his thoughts enough as it was, like a ghost clinging to his steps, and entertaining these ideas was a sure sign of growing madness. So, to distract himself long enough to fall asleep, he recited the family tree of the House of Eorl all the way back to the time of Éothéod in the North until dreams finally claimed him.

He dreamed of her again that night, which was not really a surprise. It was like things had been for such a blessed little while – and, to be truthful, how he silently hoped against his reason it could be again. Her sweet smiling face, her light slender fingers disappearing in his hair, the feel of her naked skin under his hands... he could try to fight it during waking hours as much as he liked, but in dreams he was helpless against her. _Black is the colour of my true love's hair..._

Then suddenly it changed. One second she was there before him, and the next she was gone. But he could still hear her calling him, the way she had on that day when he had ridden with Uncle for Helm's Deep... he had wanted to look at her then – in fact there had been a profound _need_ to see her – but with effort of will he had kept himself from turning.

Éomer startled awake, Wildly his eyes sought for the reason of disturbance, while his fingers grabbed for the knife under his pillow – a habit he was finding hard to break. At once, his gaze fixed on the figure sitting in the chair at the end of the cot... the sun must be rising already as the tent was not entirely dark, and he saw her long hair shadowing her face, her huddled form, and the slight trembling of her shoulders as though she was crying. Immediately he knew her.

He was up in seconds, but when he reached the chair, she had already vanished. Breathing erratically, he fell on his knees by the chair, his fingers tracing the seat as though it might still recall her warmth. But Lothíriel had not really been here. He had just dreamed so...

With a sigh, he fell to sit on the ground, eyes fixed on the chair as if she would appear again. How pathetic it was, that he would so desire the briefest appearance of such a deceitful woman! Yet he couldn't help this, or deny the truth which lived in these dreams and thoughts and the sheer fact he couldn't keep her away. For better or for worse, he still loved her and he still wanted her. And he missed her more than he had ever thought possible.

Wearily he ran a hand through the tangles of his hair, rubbing his fingertips against his scalp. What he had talked about with Aragorn yesterday was true: he needed to clear this out with _her_. He had to know what she wanted. True, there was a good chance that way lay more heartbreak, but things couldn't go on like this for much longer. He had to find some kind of resolution with the princess, and discover what was the truth. He had to know if what they had shared had been real – if the woman he had loved was just another disguise. For even now he could clearly see _her,_ the one who had willingly come into his arms and laughed with him and made him happier than he remembered being in a very long time. Like a promise of peace and clarity against the brutality of war... she was spring, she was life, and she was hope. With her, life was not merely duty – it was a _gift._ And he could not go on pretending he did not want her.

Thankfully, it was then Éothain lifted the veil that served as a doorway and peeked in.

"You awake, Éomer?" he asked, and then noticed his king sitting on the ground. "What is the matter?"

The younger man grunted as an answer.

"Nothing. Just slowly losing my mind", he muttered as he lifted himself to sit on the edge of the bed. "Give me a minute, will you?"

"All right", Éothain replied and his face vanished from sight again, leaving his liege-lord alone once more. The light was growing outside now, much to his relief. Éomer knew trying to get sleep again would have been an entirely pointless attempt.

The young king groaned to himself and made for the basin. He washed his face and scrubbed it fiercely, trying to banish _her_ from his mind. Béma, if just a dream of her could undo him just like so, he would have no chance against her when they were face to face once more. How pathetic! He had survived all three of the great battles of Ring War, and a slip of a princess made him utterly helpless and defenceless!

 _A swim. I need a cold swim._

And so, as soon as he was clothed, he headed out with the rather desperate wish that in the stream of Anduin, the memory of her would be slightly less tormenting.

* * *

 _Farewell, sweet earth and Northern sky..._

The ship glided softly from the port of Harlond. It sailed under the colours of Dol Amroth, and while it mostly carried cargo and occasionally travellers, it was fine and comfortable enough to ship the Princess of Dol Amroth away... or to imprisonment, as Lothíriel preferred to think of it. Before reaching Minas Tirith and meeting her father, she had never considered herself truly disgraced. Yes, she had known her good reputation wouldn't be easily salvaged. But she had believed it wasn't entirely lost, if Éomer just agreed to listen to her. However, now as she was being taken away to be hidden in some villa, she truly felt disgraced.

The site of her second exile was not near to Dol Amroth. It was a villa close to the delta of Anduin, passed to her family from her late mother. She hadn't been there since her childhood, and in recent years it had mostly served as lodgings for guards and lookouts watching out for corsairs, hoping to guard Pelargir from attacks. Even so, the villa was apparently comfortable enough, and certainly sufficiently secluded to hide a fallen princess. Or perhaps it was just a part of Father's plan to punish her by sending her to such a location.

Her mood was sullen as she stood at the stern of the ship, her eyes still seeking the city and the northward road. The line from one of her favourite songs kept running through her mind, and she wondered if this was at all like how Beren had felt in leaving behind the one he loved.

Amrothos had offered to come along, but she had declined. What good would it do, anyway? At least by telling him to stay behind, she could ask him to go to Cormallen and find Éomer there. He had agreed indeed and departed for the camp of the Host of the West early this morning. She knew Father would never act as a messenger between her and her beloved. In fact, he would probably have thought it only further damaged things.

Aunt Ivriniel was with her, though – she had arrived in the city only a couple of days ago, and she had been out visiting some friends when Lothíriel and Amrothos had reached their family's town house. If the princess had hoped Aunt would be glad to see her and take her side against Father, she had been wrong. The sister of her sire had immediately agreed with him, scolded Lothíriel for her irresponsible behaviour, and rushed to pack her belongings for the journey south. If this was how her entire family was going to react, Lothíriel was grimly pleased that she didn't have to meet Elphir and Erchirion right away. The former was acting as Father's substitute in Cormallen, while the latter remained watching over Dol Amroth.

She sighed and dug her nails into the wood of the railing. Until the last minute before the ship had embarked, she had kept waiting for an interference. Father changing his mind, Faramir telling her to stay, Éomer appearing windblown from the road and demanding to talk to her... Brithwen had promised to find him and talk to him, but nothing indicated she had kept her word. Was it because she had died in the battle? Had it been only a lie? Or had something kept her from finding Éomer in time? Lothíriel could only guess.

Tears came as if on their own. Had it really been months already that she had last seen Éomer? That final glimpse of his back when he had ridden for Helm's Deep kept returning to her, haunting her dreams – she had long since lost count of how many times she had relived the moment he had left her. And often there were nights she thought he'd be there next to her, and she could even hear his breathing, but when she reached for her side, she couldn't find him. The intensity of her yearning for him was at times a crippling sensation, choking her as though there was always some heavy weight on her chest. All she had got with him was two months, and some of it he hadn't even been at home. It was not enough. It was like a blink of an eye compared to the lifetime she had dreamed. Had she known it before, back in Aldburg when they said goodbye to each other for the last time... oh, if she only had told him that she loved him!

Lothíriel brushed hands across her eyes, reminding herself crying wasn't going to change anything. Indeed, _nothing_ she could do would change anything. All she could do was wait, now that Father had just brushed her aside, like he thought she had no say in her own life. That was the part she hated the most, she mused: essentially, he was treating her no differently than uncle had in arranging the outrageous deal with Bartas the corsair.

Fishing a handkerchief from her pocket, she blew her nose and took a several deep breaths. She had to trust Brithwen and Amrothos to get to Éomer and deliver him the real version of what had happened. Then he would surely come for her, never mind what Father said or did. She knew the man and how stubborn he could be, and it would surprise her very little if he rode all the way down to the villa, demanding to see her.

The thought had her smiling somewhat, and with that Minas Tirith fell behind once more.

The journey down Anduin was slow and uneventful. Lothíriel did not have much to keep herself occupied, which was strange after months of acting as a servant and having things to fill her day with from dawn to dusk. Often she found herself staring out of her cabin's window, or standing outside and gazing at the banks of the river, thinking of her friends back in Rohan. Was Saethryd still angry with her? What would Aengifu and Derehild say when Lothíriel didn't come back, like she had promised? Did they ever think of her at all, or were they just happy she was gone? She missed the northern land and life back there, people and their songs and the mead and the grass and even the wind. The braids she made in her hair were distinctly Rohirric, much to the displeasure of her aunt, and at least half of the lullabies she sang for her unborn child were those she had heard in Aldburg. And in her heart lived the fear Éomer would not come for her before the baby was born – or, worse yet, he'd never come _at all._

Then one evening before they passed Pelargir, Lothíriel was taking a late walk on the deck of the ship before retiring to her little cabin. Most of the time, she kept to herself, preferring solitude to the curious looks of people around her. In a bout of betrayal, she even avoided her aunt most of the time, and thankfully the older woman allowed her the space she required. Perhaps it was also because Aunt didn't know how to fit together the girl she had known and the woman who had returned from Rohan.

She sighed and halted by the railing, staring out into the shadowy woods. The last light of the day was fading and soon it would be night again – another night she would struggle for rest and peace while hoping that when she woke up, _he_ would be next to her.

The ship glided through a wisp of rising mist, momentarily shrouding the bank of the stream like a milky cloak. And then, all of a sudden, she saw a tall figure standing by the river. Long golden hair, a pair of discerning eyes, a stern bearded face that could become so comely when lit by a smile... he stood there fair as the summer, dressed in a linen shirt and faded breeches she had so often seen him using when they were alone. Lothíriel almost cried out his name, but even as she blinked and the ship passed the place he had been standing, he was already gone.

Picking up her skirt, she rushed along the railing and to the stern of the ship, peering into the growing shadows and trying to glimpse him again. But he was gone already, and what she had seen had probably been nothing more than a figment of her imagination, brought here by the effect of stress and yearning. Or, it had been like that night back in Dol Amroth, when Éomer had stood at her door...

Lothíriel frowned as she stared at the now empty bank of the river, falling further behind. Éomer had first appeared to her on the night before Uncle Denethor had arrived in Dol Amroth, and she had thought of him as a herald of fate – signifying the tremendous, painful way her life had changed so soon after the dream.

Uneasy mood took her instantly. She turned again, walking quickly to search for the captain of the ship.

She found him making his rounds on the deck, like he did every morning and night. He was a fairly young man, coming from a long line of sailors, and to her it seemed like he more or less held her father in awe.

"Captain Maethor", she called to him, and the man turned to look at her quizzically. Though one couldn't say they communicated often, she still got the impression he did not appreciate her much more than he would appreciate a woman working at a pleasure house. However, this didn't seem to lessen his respect of her father.

"What is it, princess?" he inquired, folding his hands behind his back.

"Captain, I know you have your orders from my father, and there is no reason you should pay heed to what I say, but I need you to turn this ship around. I have to get back to Minas Tirith", she said, trying to keep the pleading tone from her voice. She knew her chances of persuading him were very slim, and if she told him they needed to go back because she believed she had just seen an omen, he would surely consider her mad in addition to being disgraceful.

Maethor's eyes twitched slightly, and he let out an exasperated sigh.

"You are correct in saying I have my orders, princess. And I see no reason not to follow them. Your lord father was very clear when he told me to take you from the city. He also commanded me not to listen to any fanciful ideas you might bring to my attention", he answered patiently, and at once she felt like being on the brink of angry tears. It wasn't because of the captain; she didn't even know him and after this voyage she wasn't like to see him again. But the idea that her father, so loving and kind and wise as she remembered him, was treating her like an irresponsible child!

"Please, captain. I'm not asking this for fancy. I'm afraid something bad will happen if I do not return to the city right now", she said urgently, wishing to reach for the man before her, as though that might somehow make him relent.

"And what makes you think anything should happen?" he asked and lifted his eyebrows quizzically.

Lothíriel bit her lip. What could she even say to him? That she had just seen some kind of a vision of the man whose first appearance had uprooted her and sent her to a strange land far away from home? And that this glimpse might mean it was going to happen again?

"Can you at least let me leave the ship in Pelargir?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"Absolutely not. Your father has left me in charge of your safety, princess, and I cannot go dropping you off any place you like. Prince Imrahil was very clear that I would take you to his villa and nowhere else", he answered patiently, and hearing his words, her heart sank It was true indeed: she _was_ a prisoner.

Without another word, she turned away from the captain and walked, blindly following her feet. She could always jump over the railing and swim to the riverbank... how long would it be that one of Maethor's sailors would catch up with her? Where could she go anyway, a soaked, pregnant woman without friends?

Perhaps Father was right. Perhaps she had done a bad thing, giving away herself so easily and daring to love a man whose world was so different than her own. And maybe he indeed was out there tonight, laughing and spreading stories about the stupid girl who had trusted and loved him with everything she had...

It was then, as she stood gazing into the shadows of the falling night and her mind grew hopeless and grim, that another song came to her. Once she had heard Aengifu humming it, and in her memory, the sound of her friend's voice was clear and sweet:

 _Sing me a song of a lass that is gone  
say, could that lass be I...?_

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Here is the new chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. :)

Lothíriel has now come back to Gondor and met with her father. Sadly, Imrahil's shock and outrage rather ruin that reunion, and at the moment he's probably too furious to really listen to anything she has to say. It didn't really seem like to me that he would just accept this situation like that, but I imagine we will be exploring the reason of his outburst later on. Lothíriel's aunt is equally shocked, but I think all their reactions really come from the fact they don't really understand what she has gone through.

As for Éomer, presently he is deeply stressed by everything that has and is still happening. His worry for Éowyn and the knowledge he's supposed to fix everything that has gone bad in Rohan make it hard for him to relax, but there is also his heartbreak and grief which have received no consolation as of yet. I would think it's starting to dawn to him it was a bad idea to leave Lothíriel without talking to her properly, and that plays a part in making him so anxious and troubled. At any rate, he has figured out he hasn't stopped loving her!

You may be wondering where Brithwen is and why hasn't she talked to Éomer yet, but I hope to answer that question in the next chapter! I know the story has been going in a rather painful fashion for many chapters now, but I simply cannot hurry the way this story goes! I must ask you to have patience with me and the tale.

The last two lines of the chapter are from "The Skye Boat Song", a traditional Scottish folk song. I rather like the mood of it and I thought it would suit Lothíriel's current situation and thoughts, though obviously if it were really a Rohirric song, the full lyrics would be different (less sailing, more riding!).

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **Rubandepluie -** Well, I'm glad that my update came at the right time! But I'm sorry to hear about your job. I hope you will find something new soon.

 **outlawwoman -** All in good time!

 **Crime of Passion'06 -** More answers here! I hope Imrahil's reaction wasn't too depressing. As for when Éomer will find out and what he'll do... wait and see!

Personally, I enjoy more writing the longer stories, and I hope those are also more "filling" reads, if you get what I mean. Like you said, the simple fact is one can't write stories with this word count overnight.

 **Woman of Letters -** It really has been a lot harder on her than I imagined at the start. We'll see how soon she gets to see him again!

I'm glad you liked Amrothos! :)

 **eschscholzia -** He may not have forgiven exactly, but neither has he been able to banish her from his thoughts and heart. He's still very much in love with her, and now he understands he really needs to find out who and what is the real Lothíriel. As for Brithwen, I will try to answer your question in the next chapter!

Things may indeed get difficult if and when the story about her stay in Rohan becomes public! As for what will happen now that she's on her way south and Éomer is still in the dark, we'll see! And yes, Amrothos really was very tactless!

 **pulchritudo in omnia -** I'm afraid this part of the story simply is like that! I try to get things moving as fast as I can, but there is simply too many threads for me to tie up. Anyway, thanks for the compliment! :)

I hope it was enjoyable to read about Imrahil, though we still have to wait for Éomer to find out. Poor man is in for a surprise!

 **EStrunk -** I would imagine if any of them sensed anything, they probably just thought it was because he's worried for his sister. As for Athilda, she may be more repentant than she shows. She's just very proud and to humble herself like that would be hard for her. And yes, Amrothos did behave rather thoughtlessly!

We still have to wait for Éomer's reaction, but we'll get there eventually! And I will answer your question about Brithwen in the next chapter.

 **sailor68 -** Thanks! :) I hope you liked the part with Imrahil, though it's painful, too!

 **Guest -** Here you go!

 **Anon -** Timeline is a bit tight here, but I think Amrothos left immediately after Sauron's fall and made haste on his way to Rohan, and they didn't waste time while riding back to Minas Tirith. So it's around middle of April right now. More on that in the next chapter!

 **Laithril -** Thank you! I'm glad you think so. :) I will try to talk about Brithwen again as soon as possible, so just wait and see!

 **Madam X -** Happy to hear you are enjoying it! Unfortunately, her return home isn't going as smoothly as she had hoped...

 **Rachetg -** We'll get there - eventually! As of now, he's still in the dark, but he's missing her rather badly.

 **Rinarwen -** Glad to have caused you such sweet pain! :D Oh, it's really not the best of times for our poor man. But as long as he doesn't know the truth, he can't help his bitter feelings - though maybe he now understands nothing in the world can make him not love Lothíriel.

 **Wondereye -** Happy to have surprised you, then! I hope you liked her meeting with her father.

 **berry-cool -** Thanks! I rather enjoyed writing their reunion. I'm anxious to get to the reunions too, but all must happen in its own time!


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

The days at the fields of Cormallen went by rather slowly, if Éomer's opinion was asked – though, of course, no one did. He was well aware of the reasons that kept him restless and concerned, and this did not improve for him as hours and days passed. At any rate, after his conversation with Aragorn, he did try to hide it a bit better. He knew well it would also please Éothain and keep the captain off his back. But it still left him with those long hours of the night when memories were not easily held back, and so he'd sit awake, scribbling notes and drafting plans for when he would return to the Mark. Not that he couldn't make any definitive decisions yet, as he didn't know the full extent of the damage caused by war, and he needed to have many long conversations with his council, but at least this gave him something to think of when sleep was eluding him. It was a bit unsettling to think much of it had _her_ distinct influence about it, but on the other hand it wasn't like knowledge itself wasn't valuable. Éomer considered perhaps the one good thing about their affair were their long conversations in which she had shared her extensive education with him. He already felt beside these late night designs, he would be putting it to use sooner than he could guess.

Drafting ideas was not the only thing he did to distract himself: thankfully, Firefoot was always more than happy to assist in letting out some steam. When the young king took his stallion out for a ride in the sunny woods, he could forget about everything for a while, and just enjoy the simple pleasure of racing through the blooming forest. Such he had been doing almost three weeks after Sauron's fall, which was also the time when the tide turned at last.

He and a small company of guards had just returned from another ride and he was giving Firefoot a good rubbing when one of his men approached him, startling him from his thoughts.

"Sire", he spoke that word which still seemed so wrong to him, "Mistress Brithwen is asking to see you. She arrived over an hour ago and has not stopped demanding to talk with you ever since."

The words had Éomer blinking in surprise. Brithwen was here? He had assumed she had been assigned to serve under Elfhelm's command back in Mundburg, and so he hadn't seen or heard about her since that awful night after the Battle of Pelennor fields. Did this mean she was not going to give up her senseless quest to win him back?

"I'm a little busy", he said at length, though a tiny voice at the back of his head suggested this was just avoiding to face a problem he would have to solve sooner or later. Quickly he stifled it.

"Very well, Sire", said the guard and turned away.

But Éomer was not left in peace. No later than two minutes after his rejection he heard Brithwen.

"Éomer Éomundson! I swear, if you refuse to listen to me now, I'm going to drop you in Anduin, and I won't be doing it in the funny way!" her voice carried over to him from the other end of the horse yard, and he couldn't hold back a slight smile from his face. It also made him remember once they had got along rather well, even if he had always known sooner or later they would part ways.

"Maybe you should give her a chance? She could have some important news for you", said Éothain, who had been standing nearby – he had just finished looking after his own horse.

For a brief moment, Éomer stood silent and looked ahead with unseeing eyes. Maybe Éothain was right... maybe he had been too harsh in his judgement of Brithwen. And one could say he owed her this much.

"I'm sorry, old man", the young king said to Firefoot, who tossed his head and threw him a quizzical glance as if to inquire whether he was going to continue with the rubbing or not. The Rohir patted the stallion's neck, "I suppose I owe this to her."

Firefoot chortled as an answer and Éomer thought there was something rather disgruntled about the sound. He smiled wryly and turned, making his way where two of his riders were holding Brithwen back and trying to tell her she would not be received. Éothain followed him quietly, to be ready at hand if there were some news that required an immediate response. Even from afar, he could see the anxiety in her features and the burning look in her eyes as she tried to catch his gaze. Then he noticed she carried her left arm in a sling, and he guessed she had been injured in battle.

"Let her pass", Éomer said to the two riders and they stood back, allowing her to see him.

"Finally! I thought I really would have to lay hands on our new king. You are as stubborn as ever, Éomer", Brithwen said, brushing her wrinkled attire with her good hand. She looked like she had travelled as fast as her injury would allow.

"I didn't think that would surprise you", he remarked and wondered again about the reason she was here. Surely it couldn't be their old affair?

He cleared his throat and looked straight at her, "What brings you here? It can't be a good idea with your arm."

"That's exactly the same thing the healers of Mundburg kept telling me", she said and grimaced. "I would have come sooner, but they didn't let me leave until a couple of days ago. I'm sorry I'm so late. It wasn't supposed to go like this."

"I'm not following you", Éomer said, frowning now.

"Béma! You haven't even started to wonder, have you? Not a slightest bit of doubt?" Brithwen asked, looking more and more pained. There was something about her voice and her words that he didn't like at all, and an ill sensation settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Is it about Éowyn? Is she all right? Has she got sick?" he asked in concern, and he felt exactly how bad it would be if something happened to her. Yes, Aragorn had said she was on the mend, but maybe his friend had got it wrong...

"No, no. She's very well, from what I've heard. You needn't worry about her", Brithwen said and waved her good hand dismissively. It looked like there was something rather anxious about the gesture.

"Then what is it, Brithwen?" he demanded more forcibly. Indeed, what reason could have her so battling against the healers and travel here while she was still recovering from her own injury?

"It's about Lothíriel", she said in a low tone, and her words lashed against him like a knife in the dark.

"What about her?" he asked, his voice coming out louder and rougher than he would have liked. Once, he had thought her name the sweetest word – now each mention of it was like stabbing at an old wound.

A strange, pained smile had come to Brithwen's face. Somehow it made him want to shake her, and he sensed whatever she was going to say next, he wouldn't like it.

"I came to see you on her behalf, Éomer. I promised her I would try to find you and talk to you, but I have been rather hindered. And I know you're probably wondering what this is about. It's just that as soon as I saw the damage I had done, I realised I would have to try to mend it, too", Brithwen started, but her words weren't making any sense, and he was growing impatient.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded. The ill sensation kept growing and something chilling was accompanying it, filling him with apprehension. It was as though a picture was forming in his mind's eye, and he already knew he wasn't going to like it one bit.

"Don't you see, Éomer? That day in Edoras, with Wormtongue and that drivel about her wanting to leave you, it wasn't real! None of it was! She wasn't trying to betray you!" Brithwen said, her words pouring out quickly.

"She wasn't? Well, she did a damn good job of making it look like so!" he growled under his breath. His hands had become fists and he could scarcely spit words from between his teeth. And all the while the anger and hurt and betrayal of that accursed day flowed back once more, trying to tear open those injuries which had not even started to heal yet.

"But that was exactly the point! She wanted you to think she was abandoning you! But it wasn't real, Éomer – she didn't do it because she wished to hurt you. It was just the only way she could protect you", Brithwen said and shook her head. He could tell she didn't take great pleasure in this conversation.

"Protect me? From what?" he asked, speaking very carefully to keep his voice from trembling with... really, he couldn't even say what was the emotion he was feeling right now. All he knew was the terrible dread hammering at his chest, his nails digging into the skin of his palms, and the faintest start of shaking of his limbs.

"From yourself, obviously! And from Wormtongue! Can't you see? The moment you heard she was in his clutches, you would have charged head first to save her, and in the process you would not only have made him realise what an asset she was against you, but also that she was not just some commoner! So Lothíriel made herself insignificant in Wormtongue's eyes, and made sure she wouldn't be used against you or given to the enemies of our people", Brithwen explained, and it was getting harder now, to find fault in her words, because he couldn't deny there _was_ certain kind of logic in what she was telling him... if this was the truth, if this was what had happened really, then it also meant he had wronged his princess in a way that could have made her hate him!

"It doesn't make sense", Éomer said in a low, shaky voice. "Didn't she go to Edoras to get herself an escort so that she could return to Gondor? Didn't she deliver herself into Wormtongue's hands the moment I turned my back? She was trying to leave the Mark!"

"And that's where you are wrong! She never meant to leave Aldburg in the first place. She was taken to Edoras against her will, because Athilda and I had exposed her as a Dunlending spy!" Brithwen answered anxiously.

At last, everything clicked. The image before his mind's eye finally made sense, the way it had not before this moment. The hushed conversations between his chatelaine and Brithwen... Lothíriel's unexplained presence in the capital at the worst possible time... her voice calling to him when he rode with Uncle to Helm's Deep... and the way she wouldn't even look at him! Never once had she looked at him during that awful scene, even though he had stood there glaring at her, _willing_ her to spare him at least the briefest glance... so that he might see her face, her eyes, and perceive if there was any falsehood on her features. That was why she had refused to face him... she had known he would guess the truth immediately if she let him see her. Lothíriel knew him too well.

She had not betrayed him. The reason she had tried to protect him so could only be because she loved him. And he had abandoned her without a word! Yes, it was the other way around, it had been all along: _he_ had betrayed _her._

He was moving now, approaching the Shieldmaiden; she backed down before him, knowing danger when she saw it.

"You. I'm going to throw you into Anduin. I'll tie you behind Firefoot and drag you up and down this blasted wood. I'll cut you into little pieces and use you as orc bait. I'll send you straight to Mordor and chase you all the way to the cracks of Mount Doom!" Éomer growled, stalking after the auburn-haired woman, his hands itching to do horrible things to her, but she was retreating quickly.

"Harsh", Éothain commented, which registered to the young king only vaguely.

"I think I may have deserved it", Brithwen stated, swiftly bending and slipping into the yard and taking cover among the horses. From there, she sought Éomer's eyes again, and her expression was almost desperate now.

"Please, Éomer! I know I made a terrible mistake, I knew it as soon as she revealed herself to me and showed what I had just done. I swear, until that moment I thought I was doing you a favour! I thought you were too much in love with her, and Athilda kept telling me how she was going to ruin what was left of your House, and I let it get to me!" she spoke quickly, but he wasn't listening.

There was that red fury again, burning in his vision and distorting everything he saw. He was only vaguely aware of the curses he was growling at her, of his hands trying to reach her neck. And maybe if there hadn't been a fence between them, and if Éothain and another rider hadn't latched on his arms, he might have lunged for Brithwen's throat. And he might have fought them, he might have just lost it completely right there and then, hadn't this been _different._ Because unlike the day on the Pelennor fields, there was another kind of dread and grief in his mind, born of the knowledge this was not something bigger than himself, this was not death or forces greater than any man. This was just _himself._ Yes, Brithwen and Athilda may have plotted the very circumstances that had taken Lothíriel from him, but it was his own actions which had made the finishing touch – until the end, he had had the option of getting her back if he had just chosen so. He had been faithless, he had not trusted her, and he had left her even as she had begged him to look back.

Hands were still holding him down, but it was not necessary anymore. His anger had already grown cold, and Éomer stood quietly, reflecting again on those fateful moments back in Edoras. Hearing the rustle of her skirts and turning to look at Lothíriel, her gaze fixed on the ground as she passed him by, and standing there before Wormtongue as brave as any warrior... and then, as he had ridden from Meduseld with Uncle, he had heard her calling his name.

He had heard the need and the agony in her voice, but he had not turned.

Brithwen spoke again, unaware of the bitter course of thoughts assailing him, "Éomer, I know I was a fool, but there is still a chance to fix this. I think she's still waiting for you. She hasn't lost her faith in you."

"She wasn't angry with me?" he asked her in a strangled voice, staring at her face with unseeing eyes. Instead, he felt like the memories of that day kept passing before him, faster and faster until he felt dizzy and a little sick.

"No, she wasn't. She was just... unhappy. I promised her I'd tell you the truth", Brithwen answered, slightly calmer now. But Éomer felt that stabbing sensation in his chest again, and it was even worse now. Lothíriel had been unhappy! Something told him that was a very mild expression of what she must have felt... abandoned and alone again, and wondering if she would ever get a chance to explain what had really happened. Morgoth's balls! It would truly be a miracle if she would let him apologise to her!

"Well, you surely didn't make any haste with it", Éothain commented in low tones, and he kept his hold of his liege-lord's arm, as though he was still unsure there wouldn't be violence.

"Oh, I know. But it wasn't like there was a chance to talk to Éomer while we were racing for Mundburg – he was either in council with Théoden King or otherwise unavailable. And then that night after the battle, when the healers had released me, I came to look for you, Éomer. But you had your captain dismissing me, and afterwards you were always preoccupied with other lords and going from one council to another. I wasn't allowed to ride for the Black Gate, and for days I kept arguing with the healers to get a permission to go after you. I think they finally let me go simply because they couldn't stomach my demands any longer", Brithwen said, shifting her gaze from the captain back to the young king again. Yes, he remembered that very well – she had showed up at the Houses of Healing when he had been watching over Éowyn, but he had refused to talk to her. It was a bitter thing, to realise every moment of pain and disappointment after that night had not been necessary. She could have cleared it all out then, and he could have sent at least a letter of apology to Lothíriel, to let her know he was aware of his mistake, though such thing couldn't possibly compare to talking in person and telling her he was so, so sorry.

But now the war was over. There was nothing keeping him from doing exactly _that._

"Éomer? Are heads going to drop today? One likes to know such things", Brithwen asked carefully.

"I don't think I'm going to have time for that", Éomer said in a hoarse voice, and at last his arms were released. He breathed deeply as he thought of the road he had before him. What awaited him at the destination... well, he had to try. He had to find out if Lothíriel would be willing to forgive him, and if he stayed here for one moment more, just waiting and wondering, it would surely drive him mad.

He looked at his captain, "Give orders to my guard to prepare immediately for a journey back to Mundburg. We'll be riding as soon as I've talked with Aragorn."

* * *

Once Brithwen had given Éomer a more detailed explanation of what precisely had taken place in Edoras, he nearly grew as angry as before and he considered rather seriously the alternative of actually going through with his threats. However, Éothain pointed out she had been very brave to confront him face to face and confess what she and Athilda had done – the captain thought Brithwen did deserve some mercy for trying to mend the damage.

Grudgingly the young king had to agree, and at any rate, he burned to get to the road. He had to ride back to the White City as quickly as possible and find out if he could still fix things with _her._ For Imrahil had already departed for Mundburg, and he knew it was with the intention of seeing his daughter again – she would soon reach the city, and there was no way Éomer could stay here when she was so close. He was painfully aware she could very well tell him to go and jump in the sea, or she could send her brothers after him, but at the very least Éomer had to try. He owed her that much.

So, as soon as his Riders had their orders to prepare, Éomer had one more thing to do. Before he could depart, he would have to speak with Aragorn, as just leaving without a word was hardly an option.

His friend was presently talking with the four Halflings, and Éomer gave a smile to Master Meriadoc; he would never forget the aid this brave hobbit had given to Éowyn during the Battle of Pelennor fields.

They took their leave when Éomer asked for a word in private with Aragorn, and a concerned look came to the face of the older man when they were alone.

"Is everything all right, brother?" he asked Éomer. "Have your received some bad news from Rohan?"

"It's not like that, Aragorn. Aye, I did receive tidings I hadn't expected, but I don't know yet whether it will be good or bad", he said, stifling the urge to just fly to his horse and race away. Béma! The anxiety and impatience were making his skin crawl. If he would be able to stay sane before he saw her again and found out if she might accept his apology, it would be nothing short of a miracle.

He cleared his throat, and continued to speak, "I must ride back to Mundburg at once. I know it's not a very good timing, but I have received news about the Princess Lothíriel, and I must go and see her. Aragorn, I have made a terrible mistake, and I cannot be at peace before I've found if it can be fixed."

His fellow king blinked and looked at him in surprise. Seeing their most recent conversation about _her,_ this would probably seem even more out of the blue.

"Has something happened to her?" Aragorn asked, making Éomer chortle in a slightly hysterical fashion. She was innocent! She had just been trying to protect him, and he had dismissed her as though she meant nothing to him!

"You could say so", he answered and ran a hand through his hair. All this felt a bit like someone had punched the air out of him all of a sudden, and he couldn't breathe properly anymore.

Looking at his friend, he went on again, trying for coherence, "I was told I had it all wrong, Aragorn. Whatever I thought happened in Edoras wasn't right. And I left her there without even half a word to hold on to – Béma knows what she must be thinking right now! I must go to her at once. I have to see her."

"What of Imrahil, brother? He may not react well to you just showing up at his door and demanding to see his daughter", Aragorn pointed out carefully.

"I know that. It's not an ideal situation, and I had hoped to resolve this in some other way. But I have wronged her, and it would only be a further offence to her if I went to her father first. She has waited for me to come around for _weeks._ I need to do this thing right by her. If Imrahil truly loves his daughter, he will see that too", Éomer explained, shaking his head. Indeed, he owed Lothíriel a fair amount of apologies and he could only hope she would be willing to accept them. How blind he had been! How faithless he had acted! He should have known the show before Wormtongue couldn't be real. He _knew_ her, the gentleness of her heart and the light of her soul. And yet he had so readily believed the scene she had conjured there before their eyes! He had left her there, alone once more, and believing he wanted nothing more to do with her. Éomer could only imagine what despair and grief she must have felt, her fear for what her future would hold when even the man she had trusted blindly had forsaken her.

Aragorn considered his words, and eventually the older man nodded in agreement.

"Yes, it is probably easier to make peace with her if you do not involve Imrahil in it. It sounds like she has been through much as of late, and it may have made her bitter. But this way, you may be able to reconcile", he said thoughtfully.

"At least I hope so. If I lose her due to my own blindness..." Éomer said, but he couldn't finish the sentence. He shook his head and stood up straighter again. He would try. And, perhaps, if the two months that had been happiest of his adult life had meant just as much to her, there was a chance of making it right again.

"I will see you in Minas Tirith, then. I would dearly like you to be present for my coronation, as my brother and closest ally", said the dark-haired man and reached to give a warrior's embrace to his comrade in arms. "Safe travel. May you find peace and reconciliation with the one you love."

* * *

The King's Company wasted no time getting ready for the road, and some half an hour later, Éomer was riding for the crossing of Anduin. Brithwen he had left behind to find out what was the talk among the men about Lothíriel, or if there was any. He had a feeling he would have a plenty of explaining to do and the last thing he wanted was any shame falling on his princess because of his actions.

His heart was anxious and troubled as they made way and he wanted to see the walls of Mundburg as soon as possible. Was Lothíriel in the city already? Imrahil had departed days ago now, and if they met before Éomer had a chance to talk to her... he could only guess what she would say to her father. If she thought he had abandoned her, if she was bitter, then there was a chance she wanted to make him pay. And being the daughter of the mightiest lord of Gondor, there was plenty she could do to harm him.

 _But Lothíriel is not like that._ Like he had once thought to himself, there was not a single mean bone in her body. On the other hand, betrayal such as his could turn the sweetest soul into bitter hatred...

And so he was all he more eager to get to the White City, to find her there and tell her how sorry he was. However, fate intervened in the shape of an Amrothian prince before he ever reached his destination.

His company was halfway to the crossing of the river when they came across three riders: two of them were arrayed in the garb of Citadel's guards, but the third wore the colours of Dol Amroth. At once, Éomer recognised the prince he had first met in Mundburg the day after the battle. His first thought was Amrothos was on his way to see his brother Elphir, who remained at Cormallen in Imrahil's stead. As such, he expected to pass by the young man with no more than a brief greeting, but that was not what happened. Instead, the prince straightened in the saddle when he saw the King's Company riding the same path as himself, and Éomer thought there was something like a mix of surprise and relief on Amrothos' face.

"King Éomer!" the prince called out to him with a voice that was strangely urgent. "King Éomer, I cannot say how happy I am to see you already!"

"Prince Amrothos", said the Rohir, nodding his head at the other man and signalling his men to halt. "Do you mean to say you were riding here because you have business with me?"

He couldn't exactly say what such business could be, unless it had to do with her. Was she in Gondor already? Had she sent her brother to talk to him?

"Very much so. I had thought I would have to ride all the way to the camp, but this should make things much easier", Amrothos said quickly. There was a peculiar look in his eyes and Éomer didn't like not knowing what it meant.

"Well, what is it?" he asked impatiently. Firefoot sensed his restlessness and shifted under him, giving out a displeased little nicker. They really couldn't be wasting time, exchanging pleasantries in the middle of the wood. His princess had waited for him long enough.

"It's about Lothíriel", Amrothos said those exact words Brithwen had given only a short while ago. An uneasy sensation immediately started to grow in his stomach, and Éomer wondered if she had sent her brother to tell him something horrible. Maybe she wanted never to see him again, and Amrothos had come to tell him to stay away?

"What about her?" he asked, again in that rough voice he had used with Brithwen. Now the prince smiled, though the expression was vaguely strained.

"I think maybe we should get down and walk for a bit. She won't like it if you snap and fall from the saddle and break your neck", Amrothos said, and before Éomer had time to grow even more confused, he was already on the ground.

"This better be important", he muttered and dismounted. Instinct was telling him he should hurry, but Amrothos had awakened his curiosity, and he could sense some urgent matter behind this encounter.

"Oh, you can count it is! You're in for the surprise of a lifetime!" Amrothos said, sounding slightly hysterical now. The young king stepped closer, glaring at the prince.

"I warn you, I'm not in a mood for jokes. Now spit it out and be quick about it. I should be on my way to Mundburg right now", he warned the dark-haired man. He briefly noted it was much easier to look at him than at Elphir, because Amrothos did not have those bright grey eyes which had been burned into his soul.

"All right, all right. Don't get angry", the prince said and lifted his hands in a disarming gesture. He went on, "So, like I said, I came to see you because of Lothíriel. She sent me to talk to you."

"Is everything well with her? Has something happened to her?" Éomer asked worriedly. Months had passed since he had last heard anything from her... months was plenty of time to plenty of things to go awry.

"Nothing like that. She's fine. I take it you've already heard the truth about that dreadful affair in Edoras? That's good. I was fearing I would have to tell you the entire story and I wasn't looking forward to it. She said you can get impatient and I thought maybe you wouldn't even let me tell you everything you need to hear", Amrothos prattled on, quickly getting on Éomer's nerves. Lothíriel had said the youngest of her brothers could get impossible, but this was even worse than he had imagined!

"If she's fine, then what on earth is the matter?" the Rohir demanded, his ire rising. With it grew the urge to grab the prince by his shoulders and give him a good shake.

Amrothos breathed deeply in and out.

"Well, I suppose there's no good way to tell this when she's not here... it would have been so much easier if she could just have come with me. But it can't be helped now", he started, which words were met by an impassive stare from Éomer. Amrothos gave again that pained little smile, and he spoke, "Lothíriel is carrying your child."

The words were like a whiplash, causing him to freeze where he stood. For a second, it seemed like his feet might give in under him – such was the impact of what Amrothos had just said. Éomer couldn't think, couldn't even feel. In a matter of a single sentence, his very life was turned upside down.

"You are joking", he choked at last, feeling like the bottom of his stomach had just relocated somewhere around his feet. Once, this precise news would have made him the happiest man in the world. However, after everything that had happened, he had no idea if this was good or bad.

"I wish I was! But believe me, it's nothing but the truth. And I should know! I was stuck with her _for days,_ watching her swing from one mood to the next, and throwing such fits I didn't think my little sister capable of! She's swelling up nicely, my lord", Amrothos said, brushing non-existent specks of dust from the front of his tunic.

 _Pregnant. She's pregnant._ Éomer felt light-headed and slightly unstable on his feet, and he tried to decide how to feel about this news. All he could see in his mind's eye was Lothíriel, growing large with his child – just as he had once imagined and thought impossible. The memory of her holding Swithulf's infant son in her arms, smiling as she lulled the babe... but she had told him she was taking precautions! Then again, hadn't Brithwen once told him it wasn't absolute?

He was going to be a father. And his life had just grown ten times more complicated than he could have guessed this morning – at least, if Prince Imrahil didn't kill him first! _Lothíriel is with child. I'm going to be a father._

And he had left her. He had left her thinking it was over between them! Great Rider in the sky, this was worse than he had even imagined! Lothíriel had been alone, she had discovered she was with child, and all this while believing he was not going to keep his promises to her! His betrayal of her was far more terrible than he had guessed!

It could be too late now. Maybe his actions had ruined any chance of mending things between them...

At last he looked at Amrothos again, and he asked, "You said she wasn't angry with me?"

"No, not at all. She's still waiting for you, and the last I saw her she was still very much in love with you. Sweet Elbereth, I don't know what you did with my little sister but she's not that same girl I used to know... she wanted to stay in Minas Tirith and wait for your return, but Father..." Amrothos answered, but towards the end of his account he began to hesitate.

"Imrahil did what?" Éomer demanded to know. There was a strange, heated rush going through his veins; if he had previously thought the need to see her was bad, it had _nothing_ against this. _Lothíriel, his poor brave Lothíriel, the mother of his unborn child..._

"Father was very shocked and dismayed when we returned from Rohan and he saw her condition. I think it was partly because of the fear of scandal, but that's not all of it. I've never seen Father like that. He sent her on the first ship to south. Our aunt is taking Lothíriel to our family's villa by the coast, to stay there until the child is born. She'll already be halfway down Anduin by now", Amrothos explained.

A pounding sensation of pain was starting to hammer against Éomer's temples. How much worse was this going to get? She was pregnant and alone, she had been sent to hide like she was a disgrace... he groaned and began to pace, rubbing the sides of his face in frustration. This was too much. This was _bad._ And it was made even worse by the knowledge he could have prevented this situation if he had just talked to her, provided her with safety and a official position in the Mark!

But Amrothos had said she waited for him still. She still had faith in him... maybe it wasn't too late to fix everything. He had already resolved he loved her no matter what, but now he wanted _this_ more than ever. He wanted her back, he wanted to see her giving birth to their child, and take them with him to the Riddermark. Lothíriel as his queen, ruling by his side as only someone so strong and brave could, and the laughter of their child chasing away whatever shadows remained in Meduseld... as these thoughts came to him, Éomer also knew what he had to do.

He looked at the prince once more and took a deep, calming breath.

"I hope you were not hoping to get comfortable at Cormallen. You're coming with me", he announced, much to the other man's surprise.

"Coming with you? Why?" Amrothos asked in surprise.

"What do you think? It's not like I know where that villa of yours is located. I'm going to need a guide."

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** And here's an update! At last, Éomer knows the truth. I must admit, it was very rewarding to finally be able to write it happening - him not knowing what really happened, and that Lothíriel is pregnant, was rather painful. But actually, the scene was originally much shorter, and he found out both things at the same time. However, I quickly began to feel it wasn't working out very well, and he didn't get the proper time to really process the news. It felt rushed to me, and considering how many chapters he has spent not knowing the truth, the pay off had to be more satisfying.

Consequently, there's no Lothíriel in this chapter. Originally I was going to include her POV too, but when Éomer's part kept growing, I decided to make a cut and split the two parts into two separate chapters. I think you'll understand that choice once the next chapter comes out!

All the same, it seemed to me that once Éomer knew the truth, he wouldn't be content with just sitting around and waiting. It may not sit well with Imrahil, but at this point, Éomer is past caring about that, because he really needs to see Lothíriel. We'll see what will come out of it.

Several of you, my readers, noted that Imrahil's reaction was pretty harsh. That it was indeed, but I'd like to point out it's not just about his fear of scandal (though that plays a part in it, no doubt). But perhaps I will let the story explain why that is!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **Crime Of Passion'06 -** I hope the reveal(s) were satisfying! But you're right - right now, Imrahil wouldn't be the most polite person if he was to meet Éomer!

Also I'm glad to know you like my story so much! :) I hope it's worth the wait. And don't worry about your English! I'm not a native speaker either, so I perfectly understand if people make mistakes.

 **Wtiger5 -** It may be worse, yes, but I don't think it's entirely about him being a typical Gondorian. But like I said, I'll let the story explain that!

 **sailor68 -** And the truth is out at last! I hope you liked the scenes where he found out. :)

 **EStrunk -** Thanks! I'm glad you liked it. :)

 **T's Mommy -** I wouldn't say it's a homage per say - I'm not a big fan of Outlander, but I like that song very much.

 **Anon -** I would say there's no chance of Éomer treating her coldly now! He has realised he had it all wrong, and that she's innocent. Poor man is on hot coals probably, having all this distance between himself and the woman he thinks he wronged severely. And it can't be easy for her either, having no idea of what's going on.

As a matter of fact, I do enjoy your rantings! :D I love it when my readers take time to write reviews like that, because often it gives me another perspective into my writing, and sometimes it's very helpful in pointing out things I need to fix or explain better. So, keep them coming!

 **Rachetg -** Oh, she certainly would have gone to Éomer first had she known her father was going to freak out like that! But being pregnant she doesn't have all the options, and she was also eager to see her father after being away for so long.

 **Woman of Letters -** I think it's even worse for him now, seeing he knows now she didn't mean to leave him. And that's of course the reason Éomer decides to ride to see her like that. Imrahil won't probably like it, and anyway I'd imagine he's still mad about everything. Hopefully, we'll be able to hear out Imrahil's side some time soon.

 **MadamX -** What can I say? I like my cliffhanger-y endings! :D Thanks for the compliment!

 **eschscholzia -** Thank you! Glad to hear you liked it. :) It seems like Éomer is now taking things to his own hands!

 **Anna -** I suppose it could be misleading, but I just have too much I want to say in a chapter! :D I know everyone is anxious for the reunion, but we'll get there when the time is right!

 **malfoy lea -** I'd say it's the latter - I don't think I've changed my schedule much? Imrahil's reaction was definitely a harsh one, but I think there's more to it. More on that later! But at least Éomer knows now the truth and I think he should have a very good reason to hurry on his way to see her again.

I'm glad you like the story! :)

 **Laithril -** Yes, she's definitely having a horrible time. Well, Éomer should be on his way now!

 **Wondereye -** Partly it's about that, yes. We'll see if that's all there is to it. I hope you liked Éomer's reactions!

 **Rinarwen -** They didn't have much luck, indeed! Thanks, I'm glad you liked it. :)

 **Donald Morrison -** Well, considering the circumstances and the distance between them, it wasn't going to be resolved easily or quickly!

 **Chaney-Led-Thorney-all-good -** Here's an update to help with it!

 **berry-cool -** Hope this helps! :)


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

The ship stopped at the harbour of Pelargir only for one night and departed again before sunrise, either because Captain Maethor was anxious to get his unwilling cargo to the destination, or the man feared Lothíriel might actually try to escape if she was given time to plot it. In any case, the reason hardly mattered. Her mind trapped in that ever-present gloom that was now heavier than ever, the princess felt too tired and defeated to even think of slipping out of the boat, and least of all to imagine a place where a lonely pregnant woman might receive a helping hand. Briefly she thought of trying to ask help from one of the few sailors who went ashore, but she knew it would probably be in vain.

The princses didn't sleep much that night, and at late hours she listened to the sound of drunken singing approaching the ship. Then Captain Maethor's voice was there as well, and judging by his tone, he was giving his wasted crew members a proper scolding. She was glad she hadn't bothered to talk to them.

She knew they wouldn't be making for Dol Amroth. What would be the point, anyway, when she couldn't make an official appearance in her condition? After meeting her father and aunt in Minas Tirith, she didn't think it would have been a happy reunion to see the rest of her kin. Her mood became more and more melancholy when she thought that if not even her family could understand or accept her choices, then what hope was there that anyone else ever would?

And sooner or later, she was sure, this story would spread. No matter what Father tried or hoped, they wouldn't be able to keep this secret forever. Then the society would have the time of their life as they gorged themselves on the story of the fallen princess, and how she had disgraced herself dallying with a horselord. None of them knew her grief and pain, having to leave her home and losing her knights, or how scared and alone she had been. They wouldn't understand how impossible it had been to refuse the warmth and safety when Éomer had offered them to her, and how his kindness had healed her wounded heart. It wouldn't matter in the airy chitchat of fine parlours and ballrooms where what was entertaining mattered more than what was the truth. It was a good story, after all.

Perhaps it would all have been easier if she could at least have hated Éomer, resented him for what had happened. But even now, as her future seemed so hopeless, Lothíriel could not change what she felt. She still missed him, still loved and wanted him. And as days passed, she began to feel this was a permanent condition for her. A day would never come that she would not think of him.

Her family's villa was located south-west of Pelargir. It stood on a tall cliff, and one of its walls faced directly the sea. Down below there was a small bay and a natural haven, with a narrow path leading up to the villa and the luscious gardens that grew around it. The villa was built heavily enough to endure assault from the sea, and in times before it had housed greater numbers of guards than it did now that the war had ended. Even so, the place was rather beautiful, though it was secluded, and Lothíriel knew many years ago her parents had sometimes spent time there to escape the courts of Dol Amroth. With its isolated location, it was a perfect place for her confinement. But be it as may, a cold shiver ran down her spine when she looked up at what she considered her prison and thought of how she had glimpsed Éomer's shade on the banks of Anduin. What evil things would befall here, like she feared?

"Don't be so grim, child. You used to love it here as a girl, didn't you?" Aunt Ivriniel spoke as the crew was busy preparing for landing; she had appeared on Lothíriel's side without her noticing. They would soon be making for the shore and then climb for the villa. It wouldn't be ready for their purpose, and the regular staff would be busy preparing rooms for their stay, but a healer and a midwife would soon arrive to watch over the princess while her pregnancy lasted. If Father was feeling particularly generous, he might even send a few extra servants and an additional cook.

"The circumstances were vastly different then, as I recall. For one, I wasn't shipped here like some kind of a jailbird", Lothíriel said, using that same snappy tone as ever since Minas Tirith. After all that had happened, she wasn't interested in trying not to feel betrayed.

"We'll get settled down in no time", Aunt said, sounding more cheerful than she looked, but she didn't try again to engage her in a conversation. To herself, the princess sighed and she rested a hand on her belly.

Less than half an hour later, they boarded the small boat and Maethor's sailors rowed them with swift strokes to the beach below the villa. The sand there was rougher than in Dol Amroth, but it was still adequate for building sand castles, as she remembered from the carefree days of her childhood. But the climb was longer than in her memory, and steeper as well – it was not made easier by the extra weight she carried. Several sailors had been tasked with carrying her and Aunt's things, but that was hardly a taxing job. Neither of them had travelled very heavily.

The gates leading to the courtyard were open as they arrived. There were only a handful of guards posted at the villa, and most of them were men whose best fighting days were already past. Looking around in the courtyard, one could quickly see it was not so carefully kept as it once been while her mother had lived and the place had not been so regularly used for housing guards. To herself, Lothíriel mused it was a good thing the nature was so beautiful in these parts. But even so, in dark humour she thought Father must really be angry with her to send her here.

Captain Maethor and his crew would not stay at the villa with them; they had carried through the task given to them by her father, and Lothíriel knew they would set sail again for Dol Amroth. Momentarily she thought if she should bid them farewell, but she decided against it. The captain was the only one whose name she even knew, and he had made it clear what he thought of her. So she decided not to waste her own time or his, but rather headed for the main doors of the villa. But Aunt Ivriniel still had appreciation for such hollow demands of etiquette, and she stayed behind to bid farewell to the captain.

The arrival of such inhabitants as herself and Lady Ivriniel had the household, usually very quiet, quickly turned upside down. While servants hurried back and forth, busied with opening and preparing rooms for the two ladies, Lothíriel went outside and wandered in the garden. Here she was now, at the start of what would probably be a long and tedious imprisonment. She didn't know when and if she should leave this place, and whether Father would ever relent so much as to forgive her. And yet it felt wrong to think there was anything she should be sorry for... even if she was the only one who still believed she hadn't made a terrible mistake.

The chambers assigned to her had once been those of Finduilas her other aunt who had at times visited this place, and Lothíriel could not tell if there was some kind of a jape in that arrangement, although none of the personal belongings of her father's other sister remained in the room. But then, she _knew_ the only thing she had in common with Finduilas was her looks. She had been sent far away from the sea, she had been stripped of her pride and status, and yet she had endured... she had thrived, found meaning, and she had lived. After all that, days seemed long and empty as they stretched before her, and things she desired were no longer at her reach. From this point of view perhaps her fate was not so different from that of Finduilas'. _I wonder,_ she thought to herself, _if any of this would have happened if she had just lived._

As night fell on the first day of her captivity, Lothíriel sat on the window-board of her chamber, and she stared out to the sea. She could hear the crashing of the tide against the shore – no wonder these rooms had been Finduilas' own, as she had been famously devoted to the sea. It was beautiful indeed, all blue and silver with moonlight dancing across the waves, but Lothíriel found not the kind of solace as there had once been to this sight. Instead, she longed for rolling plains and green grass and mountains... she thought of little streams and wild flowers and horses grazing, warm wood and smoke and the dim stables, and golden hair and a bearded face nuzzling against the back of her neck.

She sighed, rubbing a hand across her belly, and wondering about the days to come. Was this to be her fate, confined to a kind of half life where her world was reduced to these walls and the gardens outside? Was this what her omen had predicted – that she should bid farewell to all meaning her existence might otherwise have had? Would this be the place she would bring up her child? Somehow it seemed wrong to her, Éomer's child born in south and raised far from his people... the offspring of such a father was meant to do great deeds, not waste away in some distant country house that might sustain the body but not the soul!

The child she carried had been conceived in love and happiness. Surely this would yield some blessing to its life?

She had to believe so. Otherwise, she didn't know what sense any of this should make.

* * *

After breakfast three days later, Lothíriel left the villa for a walk to the beach below the villa. Aunt Ivriniel had offered to come along, but she had declined – she had still not forgiven her family for their reactions, and every time she looked at her father's sister, she remembered that expression on aunt's face when they had met again in Minas Tirith and the older woman had realised she was pregnant. At least, Aunt wasn't giving her lectures anymore, and was leaving her alone when she wanted.

The climb back to the villa would take some time, but on the other hand time was something she had in abundance. Days crawled by slowly, and they were just as dull as she had known to expect. After the bustle and life back in Aldburg, all this waiting and idling felt that much worse. She tried to fill the hours best she could, walking in the gardens or on the beach, or reading books, or even by doing some sewing to prepare for the birth of the child. Some evenings, she sat before the desk in her chambers and attempted to draft an account of her time in Rohan. But often she would find herself drifting, gazing ahead with unseeing eyes and wondering about future, or thinking about the father of her child. And behind everything, every action she pursued in the hopes of distracting herself, there echoed the hollow pain of loneliness. During the cold, dark watches of the night, she wondered how long she could endure it before she was eaten alive.

With a sigh, she halted at the surf and tried the waters. It was still rather cold, and the healer, recently arrived with the midwife to watch over her until the child was born, had suggested she shouldn't be swimming before the sea warmed a little bit. She grimaced to herself: of course she would be forbidden the one good thing about living in this place!

In helpless frustration, she kicked away a loose stone. Once more, her anger and frustration lifted their head. Here she was, shut away nicely, while the men were making their deals and ordering her life without even asking what she thought about it! And she was so _tired_ of it, being tossed around according to the whims of others. As she thought of this, she grew less and less ashamed of her affair with Éomer. At least that once she had done whatever she wanted, and she had been in control of her own fate. At least she had then been _free_.

Lothíriel trudged on for a while, until she came to a wide, low rock. From her childhood, she could recall this glimpse of her mother sitting there, while she was digging seashells and arraying them on the walls of her little sandcastle. All of that seemed a thousand years ago. She worried her lip as she imagined Mother sitting there again. Would she be embarrassed of her daughter? Would she agree with Father?

With a moody little huff, she took seat on the rock and wrapped her cloak more tightly about her shoulders. Father had said he "would sort it out" with Éomer, as though her lover needed to decide if he wanted the disgraced princess back! However, what Father hadn't realised was there were multiple ways this could go wrong. Maybe Éomer was still angry and would refuse to listen to Amrothos, or consider this whole affair an insult he couldn't forgive. Maybe he had moved on and was betrothed to someone else already, and couldn't walk away from it without losing his face. Or, maybe Father was still furious, and he'd go to the King of Rohan and make demands, try to order him around... then the most likely outcome was Éomer would lose his temper and get angry with her father. And in that case, there would be no hope of mending things between their Houses.

The mere idea stirred her despair anew, and she jumped up again, desiring to do _something,_ to have some way to spill out at least some of all the anger and loneliness and feeling of being abandoned that constantly made her feel like she wanted to scream. But all she could do was wait... wait and see what would happen next.

Once more she started to walk, blaming the biting sea wind for the stinging tears in her eyes. At this point, she didn't even know how much of these moods were because of the pregnancy. At least, she wasn't throwing up so much anymore – thank the Powers for small graces, she thought grimly to herself.

She was back up at the villa around midday, as her walk had turned out longer than originally planned. Like every day, she gazed at the road that lead to the house, hoping against hope that she might see a tall man, riding a great grey warhorse as he came... how many times had she stood in the courtyard of his Hall, welcoming him home? If she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could almost hear the sounds of Rohirric, horses whinnying and metal clinking, smell the wind and smoke, and then feel a pair of strong arms wrapping around her as a bearded face descended to seek her lips for a kiss... for better or for worse, she still missed him, and his absence remained a wound that did not get better. She didn't know if it was a fool's hope, but maybe when he heard about the baby, he'd come for her instead of meeting her father, and show she hadn't been wrong to hold on to him for so many lonely weeks... that he appreciated her more than just treating her as goods he'd negotiate for with Father.

But like every day since he had ridden to war, the road remained empty. Yet somehow, she still felt disappointment trickle down her insides.

 _Maybe he won't come. Maybe I'll miss him forever,_ she thought to herself, and there was again that idea she hated, him moving on with his life, bringing someone else with him to Meduseld, and forgetting about her for good. Or worse yet, he would send for his child and take it from her, so that she wouldn't even have the small comfort of their son or daughter. She knew it was more than feasible for him: Éomer was now a king, and stories had it he was very good friends with Lord Aragorn, Isildur's Heir. Father might even consider it an easy, clean way to get rid of the unwanted child. What would her word weigh against theirs? And before she even knew it, she saw it before her mind's eye: Éomer riding away once more, but when she cried for him to come back, her screams were answered by those of a child...

She gritted her teeth against these thoughts and turned her back to the road. Elbereth, this place was sure to drive her mad!

Lothíriel returned inside around lunchtime, and she joined her aunt in the dining hall. It was rather grand for just two people, but she knew the older woman loved the place: the row of large windows gave an impressive view to the sea and filled the room with light from outside. It was also very cold and damp during the winter, just as most of the rooms of the villa would be. She just hoped she wouldn't have to spend those dismal months here, at the mercy of sea winds and storms that whipped and raged against the cliff for days at a time. Unbidden, the thought of certain horselord came to her – he had always kept her warm, and he didn't even mind when she put her cold fingers against his skin. It was almost bewildering how much she missed small things like that.

Aunt was already seated, and her greeting was bright and cheerful, but Lothíriel only made a vague sound in response. She had no idea of it was even sensible to keep up this grudge, but on the other hand, it was not easy to forget her family, except for Amrothos, hadn't been readily offering their support and comfort when she had most needed it.

She took seat in the table with a sigh and spread a napkin on her lap. All this – fine porcelain and crystal before her, Aunt's intricate flower arrangements decorating the table, servants bringing dishes in – was worlds away from the simple but lively suppers in the Marshal's Hall. As some kind of a peace offering, Aunt was having the cook prepare fish every day, which was one thing Lothíriel didn't resent about her imprisonment (Aunt used the word "visit").

"How are you feeling today, dear?" Aunt asked her, like she did every day.

"Same as yesterday", Lothíriel replied. Her response had as little variance as these attempts to start a conversation. Not that it wasn't true, though; she felt much the same as she had for days now.

Even so, apparently it wasn't the answer Aunt was hoping for. The older woman frowned slightly and laid down the silver cutlery in her hands.

"I worry about you, niece, and these moods you're having. Surely it can't be good for the baby?" she remarked, glancing at Lothíriel's midsection doubtfully.

"If you're so concerned about my moods, why don't you summon a ship from Dol Amroth and take me back to Minas Tirith? I'm sure my attitude would improve vastly if I could just sort out this mess with the father of my child", said the younger woman, cool and biting.

"Surely you must see how inappropriate it would be, Lothíriel", Aunt said patiently, but it wasn't like Lothíriel had waited for a different answer than this.

"How inappropriate do you think it would be, exactly? In your personal opinion, is it worse than bedding him and bearing his child?" she inquired, feigning vague interest. Aunt pursed her lips and red spots appeared on her thin cheeks. Strange or not, Lothíriel could imagine how Saethryd would have spluttered in laughter had she been here, and Aengifu might have just spat out whatever was in her mouth right then. How she missed her friends back in Rohan!

"I do not understand why you insist on being so difficult, niece", Aunt said, sounding so pronouncedly patient it couldn't be entirely sincere.

" _I_ am being difficult? My reaction to being betrayed by my own family is _very_ mild compared to the fit Father threw when I just told him the truth!" Lothíriel snapped back and skewered a piece of fish on her plate probably hard enough to leave a mark on the porcelain.

Her aunt winced, but she was not yet ready to give up.

"I never knew you to be so stubborn, Lothíriel. It was one of the less charming qualities of your late mother, bless her soul", she commented and brought her glass to her lips.

"Aunt, I'm not a malleable child anymore. Why can't any of you see that? And why is being stubborn bad when I'm just trying to hold on to a loved one?" Lothíriel asked, meeting the eyes of her kinswoman straight now. Aunt didn't seem to have an answer to that question, and she sat quiet. With a sigh, the princess went on, "I only want to fix things with Éomer. We all know it's the only chance to save this situation. And I think there's a better chance if Father would just let me talk with him in person."

"Niece, I rather think your father has the right idea. I do believe he should talk things through with this Lord Éomer before you and him meet again and more damage is done", Aunt said, though her expression and tone implied she already knew Lothíriel's mind wouldn't change. There was also the question on what could possibly make things any worse than they already were.

The princess sighed. The conversation was going in circles again, making her more and more sick of it. But she did do as much as shoot a glare from under her eyebrows at Aunt and stated coolly, "And that is where you are wrong. I know him, whereas you and Father don't. You think you can bend Éomer to your will, just like you are trying to bend me, but only thing it's going to avail is ruining all chances of actually fixing this."

Discussion mostly died there, and the rest of the meal went by in a wary silence. But Lothíriel was not able to eat much of her portion – there was a weight in her stomach, growing harder to bear. When had everything become so warped? Her life was so mangled and mutilated, even the easy affection for her family was not the same anymore. They thought she had done a great wrong, they clearly saw she had gone through things that had changed her, and yet they still treated her like a silly child, as innocent as the one who had left Dol Amroth a year ago. A part of her would have liked to relent, to have back their approval and make things as they used to be. However, she knew it was not possible. There was no going back from the things she had done.

And she could not become again that girl who had got lost on the plains of the Riddermark.

* * *

Another long, dull day had come to an end, leaving Lothíriel to wonder how many more she could endure without losing her mind. There seemed to be no significance to the progression of hours in this place, and she found she missed the crowded bustle of the Marshal's Hall. Granted, living in Aldburg had never guaranteed her much privacy, but now she was even missing the things that had frustrated her or been hard to adjust to in the beginning. Upon leaving the Mark, she had never thought she would think of that place with so much longing.

She still had difficulty falling asleep, partly due to _his_ absence, partly because she was not getting used to the sounds and smells of the villa very well, and so she would stay up late and read. If only to herself, she had to admit that was another thing she had missed, as Éomer's collection of books in Aldburg had not been large or varied. Even then, she could remember that one night she had sat on his bed and read to him out loud, until he pushed the book off of her hands and began to kiss her... some days, every little thing was a reminder of _him_ and their time together.

Some two hours before midnight she got up from the bed, putting aside her book and making for the pitcher of water that stood next to the window. She poured herself a drink and moved over to gaze out into the deep blue night. The moon was very bright tonight and the skies were clear; she momentarily thought of sneaking out for a late walk.

But then, as she stood there by the window, she saw there was something wrong with the picture. A ship had glided into the bay, and it was not one of her father's! And she had been no more than a child when her grandfather had made sure she knew what a corsair ship looked like.

The glass dropped from her hand, spilling its contents on the floor. But Lothíriel was already running, and she was pulling on her dressing gown when she went. Why hadn't anyone made the alarm? Did the guards of this villa truly think that Lord Aragorn had been so effective as to wipe out every last corsair in the world? However, there was no time to wonder about that right now. When it was fully manned, the crew of a lone corsair ship would not have a fighting chance. However, guards posted here were few and hardly at their best fighting age, and a company of fully armed, bloodthirsty pirates had a very good chance of overcoming them.

"Alarm! Help! Corsairs! Corsairs are coming!" Lothíriel screamed from the top of her lungs as she rushed down the hallway, dim at this late hour, and ran into her aunt's bedchamber without bothering to knock. Her shouting had already startled the older woman from sleep, and she sat up, blinking her eyes in confusion.

"What is this, child? Have you had a bad dream?" Aunt asked sleepily.

"No! I saw a corsair ship in the bay, and they may already have landed!" Lothíriel said hastily, reaching for the hand of her father's sister. "Please, we must hurry!"

"Nonsense, everyone knows Lord Aragorn and his company -" Aunt started patiently, but the princess did not let her continue.

"This is not a joke, Aunt! If you don't believe me, just take a look outside and tell me that is not a corsair ship!" she said desperately.

Aunt Ivriniel sighed in weary frustration, but she did get up and walked stiffly to the window, while Lothíriel wanted to shake her to move faster. Even so, the older woman needed to take just one look outside into the bay to know her niece was telling nothing but the truth.

Aunt whirled around and her eyes were wide and startled; all sleep had vanished from her with that one glimpse.

"Come, niece! We must hurry!" she said, taking Lothíriel's hand in her own and quickly pulling the younger woman after herself.

As they hastened down the hallway, the alarm bell was finally ringing outside – one of the guards must have heard Lothíriel's shout and confirmed it was not false.

"We can't go through the front gate – that's the way they'll be coming here. But we needn't be afraid. Do you remember the escape tunnel in the cellars?" Aunt asked her quickly.

"Yes, I do", Lothíriel answered in a choked voice. Their ancestors had known well that such a device might come to a need if attack came from the sea. When she had been a child, the tunnel had been her favourite thing about this place, though it was also a bit scary.

"You must get going immediately, Lothíriel. I'll stay behind and see that the servants make it to safety as well", Aunt said quickly to her, but the princess halted when hearing that.

"No! I'm not leaving you behind!" she protested.

"You _must_ go now, niece. Do as I say!" the older woman commanded, reaching to hold her shoulders and looking straight at her.

"But Aunt -" Lothíriel tried, but she was cut short quickly.

"I promised your father I would take care of you. He may have been angry when he sent you here, but he loves you so much, just as we all do, and we can't lose you again", Aunt said forcibly. Then her tone grew gentler, "Please, go now. If not for yourself, then do it for your child."

That snapped her out of it at last, and weakly Lothíriel nodded. First of all, she had duty to her unborn baby.

"I will see you on the other side", she insisted, kissed her aunt's cheek, and then she hurried down the corridor once more.

As she stumbled through the halls and towards the kitchens, where one could enter the cellar, Lothíriel could hear shouting from outside. Were those corsairs already making their assault upon the villa? Would the guards be able to hold them back long enough for her aunt and servants to make it out safely? Those left to defend the villa were mostly older men or young boys – the warriors had all marched to Minas Tirith to fight Sauron's armies. And while everyone was still drunk on the victory over the Enemy, it was all too easy for a single corsair ship to strike in a place like this...

The kitchens were empty at this hour, and it was so dark she had hard time finding her way. Suddenly, she stumbled on something and cursed as she fell – someone had left a stool or some such small object on the floor, blocking her way. Was she imagining it or were the shouts getting louder and closer? Was her aunt all right? Elbereth! She had _known_ something bad would happen!

Groping her way in the dark, Lothíriel eventually found the back wall of the kitchens, and she felt her way in search of the cellar door. She just hoped down there she could find something to make a fire with, because finding the entrance of the tunnel would be hard enough as it was. She hadn't been to the villa for many years, and so her memory might not serve her right.

Suddenly her hand fell on wood, and she felt around it for the handle. But as she gripped and turned it, the door did not open. It was locked!

She cursed out loud.

"What else would you like to throw at me?" she cried in desperate anger, her words directed to world at large, "Haven't you already tried me enough?"

Lothíriel threw her fist against the wood, her eyes overflowing with tears. There was no way out, and soon she would either be taken captive or slaughtered, whatever happened to please the captain of the corsair ship.

"Éomer", she whimpered as she leaned her forehead against the door. "I need you. _We_ need you. Please. Please come. _Help me."_

But it was in vain to hope for something like that. Éomer was far away, he didn't know of her peril, and possibly he wasn't even aware she was expecting his child! He would not be there to pick her up this time, and with horrifying certainty, she knew at last she would never see him again.

She would not be walking out of this alive.

* * *

Some five minutes later, she was found.

He was a pirate, which was not hard to guess by his appearance. He was arrayed in dirty silken garments, which had perhaps once been fine but since then his less than wholesome life and the constant salt sprays of the sea had ruined the fabric beyond mending. His dreadful grin revealed he lacked few front teeth, and from one earlobe, several rings were dangling. A short blade was exposed in his hand and it was dripping with blood. Whose life he had taken when he had ravaged his way through the house?

Lothíriel surrendered herself immediately. Fighting back would avail her nothing right now, and maybe, if she offered herself a hostage, she could negotiate with the captain some kind of a deal.

"Come along, wench", said the pirate, still wearing that horrible grin. She wanted nothing more than to take a frying pan and knock out the rest of his teeth.

"It's all right. I'm not going to fight back. Just take me to your captain", she said with all the dignity of a princess. He barked in laughter and grabbed her by wrist, and then he began to drag her after himself. Well, at least she had some luck so far – she knew such men were not usually inclined to spare the women they encountered like this.

Outside, the shouting had mostly quieted, Did it mean everyone else had been slain already? But as they reached the courtyard, she saw Aunt Ivriniel and most of the servants were there, flocking together like frightened birds. Of the guards she saw only five or so sitting close to the wall, and they had all been disarmed; a few pirates were in the process of tying up their hands and feet.

Dismay immediately took Aunt's face when she saw her.

"Niece!" she exclaimed and tried to rush to the younger woman, but one of the pirates roughly pushed her back.

"You stay right there, prisoner", he growled, threatening her with his curved blade.

"I'm fine, Aunt. Don't worry", Lothíriel said in Sindarin, thinking she would be taken to stand with the rest of the prisoners, but instead the man leading her stopped some seven feet away from them.

"Where's the captain? I think I've found what he was looking for", said the loathsome corsair, making Lothíriel look at him sharply. What was he talking about?

As though to answer her question, the shape of a man appeared at the main door of the villa. He was a tall fellow, perhaps tallest of his entire crew. His face and head were cleanly shaven and there was a long, hideous-looking scar running across the right side of his scalp. His eyes were as dark as Éomer's, but his expression held nothing good or kind. Somehow, the look on his face marred him so that she couldn't say if he was comely or not. His clothing was slightly finer than the rest of the company, marking him clearly as the leader of this company.

"Captain, I found her", said the man still holding her by arm. The grip of his fingers was so tight it was sure to leave bruises.

"Well I'll be damned. I already thought she had got away", spoke the captain for the first time, his eyes fixing on her as he came and his crew made him way, "Let me look at her. I've waited for this moment for a long time."

Meanwhile, Lothíriel was growing more and more confused and scared. A sensation of foreboding had come to her, and she knew something _bad_ was about to happen.

"My good captain, I ask you not to hurt my aunt or our servants. I will offer myself as a hostage and come with you willingly, if you only promise to leave these people unharmed", she said, keeping her tone as steady and strong as she possibly could. _I must be brave now, just as Éomer would be._

The corsair stopped before her. He caught her chin in his hand, turning her face from side to side as though he was inspecting goods, and she fought against the natural instinct of flinching back. It would only put him off, and she couldn't afford that if she hoped to save any lives.

"Hmm. Even better than was promised, though unfortunately someone has already had their way with you. Then again it can't hurt to have Imrahil's own grandchild in my hands", said the corsair, and his words chilled her heart to the core.

"Take your hands off of my niece, you filthy pirate!" Aunt Ivriniel shrieked and tried to jump between them, but once more she was held back.

"Quiet, woman. She was pledged to me, and I have waited for my due long enough", said the corsair, and horror washed over Lothíriel when she understood just who this man was.

The words that were next spoken confirmed what she had already guessed, and hearing them she felt like her heart had dropped into the bottom of her stomach.

"Captain Bartas, what will we do with the rest of the prisoners?"

Bartas! The very corsair lord she had so hard tried to escape from! After all her sacrifices, all the pain and losses she had gone through, she was here before him and at his mercy!

"Please, do not take my niece! Let her go! Take me instead – I'll do anything you want!" Aunt exclaimed now, but her plead only seemed to annoy the man.

"Silence her, Shakab", he ordered, and the crew member was already unsheathing his sword when Lothíriel finally got back her voice.

"No! Don't touch her. I will come with you without a hassle if you just don't hurt anybody", she quickly said, searching for Bartas' eyes desperately. Beyond these moments unimaginable horror was waiting both herself and the baby, but she could still ensure others didn't have to suffer. And maybe, if she lay low for the time being, she could find a way to get some revenge... if she surrendered now, played the part of a demure prisoner and a concubine, then eventually moment would come Bartas would lay down his guard. One moment would be all she needed, if she was careful.

"Well, I suppose it serves for a wedding gift, don't you think?" Bartas said, smiling in a way that disgusted her deeply. Hate and anger boiled in her heart, but she was powerless against the fate she had tried to avert.

"At least tell me one thing", she managed to speak, though forming words was difficult, "How did you find me?"

"Oh, it was easier than you think. Only a few days ago my ship was anchored near Pelargir, as I had sent a pair of my less inconspicuous crew members to scout for some news. It's a brave new world, you see! I wanted to know what is going on in Gondor and whether the stories about king returning are true. And there in one tavern one of them happened on a certain sailor, who was delightfully drunk. He also happened to possess a particularly loose tongue", Bartas said, smiling even wider now. He smoothed one hand against her cheek and then through her hair, and she couldn't help but shiver in disgust. Elbereth, if she would have to let this man touch her, she would surely die! Maybe the best course of action would be to throw herself into the sea the first chance she got!

He let out a low chuckle then, and went on, "Said sailor was soon boasting about shipping a certain noble lady from the White City to a secluded villa here in the south... it took just few more drinks to get him to tell the name of that lady. I must admit, I could hardly believe my luck! There I was, thinking for months the princess I had been promised had died! And then she returns very much alive, and is put here of all places, where she is ripe for plucking! Imrahil must be getting reckless in his older age, leaving his only daughter with so few to guard her."

In silent abhorrence she listened him to speak and explain the sorry events which had lead to this moment. Captain Maethor's ship had indeed stopped at Pelargir for one night, and she had seen some of the crew members going ashore... who could have guessed that Bartas' men would be in the city that same night? She felt sick as the picture unfolded before her, and she knew there was no helping her now. One slip at a time, she had been brought closer to when the sword upon her head would fall, and now her doom was complete.

 _All that was good, all that was fair,  
All that was me is gone._

"Very well", she said at last, quiet and defeated. "Shall we go, then?"

"Soon, my sweet bride. But first I think my men should gather a few objects from your villa to remember this place by. It wouldn't be fair for them for us to go now, you see? I've got my prize and they should also have theirs", Bartas said, patting her cheek as though one might pat their dog. She wanted to bite his fingers so hard they would come off.

However, his men were chuckling at his words, very much pleased with this plan. A few of them were already making for the main door of the villa, when suddenly a shout came from the wall. A lookout, it appeared, left to watch the road leading to the house.

"Bartas! Riders! Riders are coming!"

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** *takes cover* Please don't kill me! I just like my cliffhangers, alright?

In the original version of the story, Bartas never made an actual appearance. He got killed during the War of the Ring, thus removing him forever from Lothíriel's world. She learned of his fate only later on, and I hope to give you a full account of how the original version went down some time soon. But as you know, I went with the second plotline, and it ended up changing a lot of things about the story. So, when I was thinking about this part of the story, I grew more and more attracted to the idea of actually having Bartas make an appearance. Somehow it seemed proper to me as well, and it certainly came as a surprise to the characters. They had rather expected he was long gone. I must say, I do enjoy this version for many reasons and Bartas is in fact one of them, even if he's a pretty loathsome person.

It's definitely a mistake on Imrahil's part that he didn't provide her with a better guard. But his anger probably plays a part in that, and I don't think anyone guessed some corsairs could still be prowling near the coast of Gondor. But more on that later on!

I know the first part of the chapter goes pretty slowly, but I wanted to show and relate Lothíriel's frustration and how she feels more and more trapped in this situation. Furthermore, I hope it shows how it seems to her she has no other company than her own thoughts, what with the way she hasn't yet forgiven her aunt for not supporting her before. But the moment they realise the villa is under an attack, they put their disagreements aside.

The italicised part close to the ending is another quote from "Skye Boat Song". I felt those lines rather fit the moment when Lothíriel believes there is no hope anymore.

Also I'm aware this development will likely leave you hungry for what happens next, but I'm afraid I do not know when I will update again. As you know, Christmas is coming and I'll be going away for the holidays. So I may not have enough time to work on the next chapter. But it will come, sooner or later, as I'm not going to abandon this story. In any case, if I don't update before Christmas, I wish you will have pleasant holidays!

Thanks for reading and reviewing! All your comments are much appreciated. :)

* * *

 **Tibblets -** Yes, I imagine Amrothos would be helpful in acting as a mediator - if they are lucky. ;)

 **eschscholzia -** I'm still laughing at the idea of him sitting by the side of the road and breathing into a paper bag! Thanks for giving me that mental picture! :D

I'd say Éomer also doesn't have time to deal with Brithwen. He's much too anxious to get going, and even with his anger, he probably knows he needs to calm down first.

I can't answer your thoughts about Imrahil's reaction yet, but we'll see! In any case you make a good point there.

 **Anon -** It's indeed in good part because he trusts Brithwen that much. And what reason would he have to think Brithwen and Athilda would just expose Lothíriel like that?

As for Imrahil, I think even in his anger he knows it would be incredibly dangerous, and he could never harm his only daughter no matter what she has done.

I'm afraid this chapter offers no relief, but I can't make the story go faster! Things must happen at their own time and pace. But still, even if Lothíriel has been rather depressed for past few chapters, I think she still has some fighting spirit left!

 **EStrunk -** I'm glad you liked it! :) I think that Amrothos, for all his carefree ways, senses that he needs to do things right by Lothíriel now. He knows her side of the story and probably shares her faith in Éomer. So he knows him being angry and acting on it would just make things harder for her, and I think we can all agree she has it difficult enough already! And Éomer wasn't just going to sit around when he heard the truth about Lothíriel!

 **notyetanotheralias -** I'd say Lothíriel knew it wouldn't be a smart thing to do to run away. But trouble has a way of finding her anyway!

 **pulchritudo in omnia -** I'm happy to hear my timing is so flawless! :) But things are looking much worse for Lothíriel than they did for Éomer the last we saw him!

 **Rachetg -** He was much too anxious to just sit and wait! And Brithwen isn't really a bad guy - she was just misguided and made a mistake. But she does her best to make it right.

I hope to talk more about Imrahil and his reasons soon!

 **Anonymous -** He's on his way. :)

 **MadamX -** Thank you!

 **Wondereye -** I'd imagine whatever makes Éomer happy, makes them happy as well.

 **CubitalFossa -** Thanks! Imrahil will be back in due time. But I'm afraid bonus chapters are quite impossible, what with the amount of work this story takes.

 **Sarahweasley -** I update as fast as I can! Hope you liked this. :)

 **meldisil -** It was good to get it out at last. As for the reunion... well, it's not looking so good now!

 **saradii2713 -** Thank you! I'm glad you like my stories. As for HTK, I'm afraid I don't know the answer. I would like to continue it, but I simply can't get any writing done.

 **rinarwen -** He usually keeps himself well enough under control, but I do think the potential for that horrible rage is always there. But yes, it's definitely not pleasant to be the receiving end of his anger!

And you are quite right! Grumpy horse nerd is having a horrible week. :D

 **sailor68 -** Thanks! We'll see about that reunion and what Imrahil will do. It's not looking so good right now.

 **Catspector -** It was pretty clear to me he'd get going immediately after learning the truth. It's not like him to just sit around waiting.

As for Imrahil, I think he doesn't really know Éomer well enough to realise that is exactly what he'd do. And his anger probably impacts his judgement, too.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

During that second it took for the alarm to sink in, Lothíriel sensed the atmosphere changing in the courtyard. Up until that moment, she had felt fear and despair and defeat, while Bartas had been grinning and gloating, along with his crew. But now the scales had tipped once more, and he might not have the upper hand anymore. Riders! Had Father sent his knights here? Or were they the warriors of some local lord, who had somehow got wind of a corsair ship prowling near to their shores? Suddenly, hope woke again in her heart. Maybe this did not have to be the end! _Please, let it be Father..._

"How many?" Bartas shouted back to the lookout, probably wondering if it would be worth meeting these newcomers in battle.

"There are dozens of them! We need to get out of here before they arrive!" came the distressed answer, and he was already fast climbing down from his post on the wall.

"Well, you heard him, boys! Let's get going while we can!" Bartas shouted at his crew. They were moving fast now: the servants and Aunt Ivriniel were roughly pushed into the stables of the villa and the doors were barred, and what small trinkets had been collected so far were pushed into bags and pockets. All this was accomplished in less than ten minutes.

The thunder of hooves nearing the villa grew stronger now and in the still night, the sounds of horses carried from afar. There had to be dozens of them, like the lookout had said, and she was glad – this ragtag company would not stand a chance against trained Swan Knights. Maybe, if she was very lucky, Father would be with them... these villains would not survive his wrath!

Lothíriel was put between two men, and then they hastened outside. They made way quickly through the gardens, headed for where the narrow path for the shore started. But she was thinking fast now, wondering who it was riding for the villa, and what she should do. They probably didn't even know this place was under an attack and wouldn't know to make haste. How far were they now? Would they hear her if she cried for help?

Then as they were halfway through the gardens, there was movement at the far end of the road, and she saw a faint glimmer of shining white in moonlight. Suddenly, she felt like she once had on the plains of the Riddermark, when she had heard horsemen approaching and she had stumbled to meet them, desperate for their aid. _Could it be...!_

Lothíriel cried out her hope as loud as she could, wild and mad, and she knew she would _die_ if it was in vain: "Éomer!"

And then, beyond the darkness, she heard his voice once more.

"Lothíriel! I'm coming for you!"

It wasn't Father! It was the last person she had thought to arrive tonight – the one person who _she knew_ would tear down the very cliff to save her! Relief washed over her, even though she was still in the hands of these corsairs; but she couldn't hold back her joy, because Éomer was on his way and there was no power on earth, certainly not these pirates, that could stand between them now.

 _He was coming._ He was riding, riding here on this moment she had all but given up to ill fate!

"Éomer, hurry!" she shouted again, and a hand covered her mouth and she was dragged harder towards the narrow path. Then they stepped on it, and the other man fell from her side – it was too tight for three people to walk side by side. And it was certainly too tight and steep for riders to use. Éomer and his company would have to use another, safer road slightly to north-east, if they were riding after the corsairs. However, by that time these villains would already have dragged her to their boat, and then it wouldn't matter whether her lover came or not.

At once, she knew she would have to buy him time. She had to delay Bartas and his crew long enough to give Éomer a chance to reach them on the shore. The surroundings could not have been better for her to do just that: not only was the way perilous in itself, but it was dark, and she had surprise on her side. So far, she had not given them a reason to think she might fight back.

Lothíriel went limp, and thanks to the sloping path the sudden motion dragged down the man hauling her. Then she threw her legs into those of the corsair walking before her, effectively tackling him on the uneven track.

The impact was just what she wanted, for he went sprawling to the next man, who stumbled and fell, rolling down the path. She saw the exact moment his neck snapped when he landed badly on the ground.

"Shakab!" Bartas shouted in dismay, leaping down the path as fast as he dared; his feet were light and sure from what she guessed was a lifetime of riding the stormy seas. He crouched by the still body of the man who had fallen and searched for any sign of life. The entire line of corsairs halted, some cursing and others muttering in tones that promised nothing good for her.

Bartas moved the body and searched the neck. Soon enough he hissed under his breath.

"He's dead!" he growled and shot up again. He pushed men from way, though most of them were quick enough to give space to their captain. Bartas came striding fast to where Lothíriel stood with the man holding her. She saw the murderous look on the man's face as he climbed, but she didn't feel fear – she was too much in shock for just how well her little ploy had worked.

Then Bartas was before her, and he slapped her hard. Hadn't the other corsair been gripping her, she would probably have fallen on the path and rolled all the way down to the shore.

"You will pay for that later on, my dear", he said venomously, but she made no answer right away. Was it enough? Had she bought Éomer the time he needed?

"'Later' may just never come", she muttered, holding her hand against her burning cheek. Was this what her life would have been as this man's wife, being slapped around whenever he felt like it? Well, she might just have spoiled her chances of ever getting any revenge on him, but it wouldn't matter if Éomer got to the beach in time.

For one moment Bartas stared at her, and then he understood just what she had been trying. He hissed again, but at least he didn't hit her again.

"You may remain reassured I _will_ deal with you soon, you little demon", he snapped angrily and then looked around himself again. "Boys, we must hurry! Quickly now, before those riders reach us!"

They went again, moving faster down the steep track. Herself, Lothíriel would never have dared to descend the path at such speed, and she kept her eyes tightly closed as they hastened on the uneven ground. However, these men knew their lives very much depended on how quickly they could make it to their boats.

Sound of waves alarmed her they were almost down and her eyes flew open; she saw the beach and the ship waiting in the bay. In pale moonlight, she thought she could see shapes climbing up and down the masts of the corsair vessel, and she knew the minute they got aboard, her life would be over. The dread in her chest was growing harder to bear and she felt sick. Where was her horselord? Was he lost in the darkness, trying to find a safe way to the shore? It couldn't end like this! She couldn't go with Bartas, knowing Éomer had been trying to get to her! Oh, she would go mad if they failed now!

There were two men dragging her again, though the more correct description was they were carrying her. On the shore, she saw two boats waiting and it was only a short row to the corsair ship. The moment the boats touched the waves, it would bee too late. By the time Éomer could alarm any Gondorian ships, she would already be halfway down to Umbar! She tried to struggle and hold down her captors, but she was powerless against two men who were much stronger than her.

"Éomer!" she screamed again into the darkness, her voice more in panic now, though she didn't know if he could even hear her. _Please, let him come, let me see him..._ she _needed_ him now, more than she ever had, he had to see his child's birth, and she had promised Derehild and Aengifu she would come back... the corsairs carrying her more or less threw her into one boat, and she rolled all the way to the brow of it. Bartas was shouting commands and his men were pushing the vessel into the water...

And then she heard them, riding from the darkness, singing just as the stories said they had sang on the fields of Pelennor, and for the first time in what felt like _years_ she heard again the sound of the northern tongue of the Riddermark.

Lothíriel didn't know if she wanted to laugh or cry, or do both, but either way it was inconvenient while this kidnapping went on, and she could feel the waves catching on the boat. It glided on shallow water, but men were not boarding it – instead, they were still on the shore, trying to get the other boat into the water. But it had got stuck in the sand! And her lover and his company was only seconds away!

It had worked! Her gamble on the path down to the beach had worked, getting Éomer those precious few seconds he had needed!

And there was the glimmer of shining white again, and she knew now it had to be his horsetail helmet, and she heard his voice: " _Forth Eorlingas!"_

She couldn't rejoice in this for very long, because now someone jumped into the boat with her. Bartas! There he was at the end of the vessel, staring menacingly at her. Immediately she knew she couldn't let him lay hands on her, and so she took a hold of the railings of the boat. It was light enough and it had already glided deeper, and so she rocked it as hard as she could.

"Stop it!" Bartas shouted and tried to crawl to the brow of the boat, but his movement only added to her rocking, and then it happened: the vessel capsized.

Savage joy exploded in her chest as she fell into the dark, cold waters. Lothíriel kicked with all her might, diving under the water as far from the boat and Bartas as she could. She went on so long that her lungs began to burn, and with a great gasp she resurfaced again.

At that point, the scene on the shore had already become full chaos. It was crawling with horsemen, who very much had the corsairs surrounded. Few shapes she could see trying to run, but the aim of Rohirric Riders was deadly even in the night: those trying to flee were quickly ridden to ground or nailed by swift spears. There in the thickness of the fight Lothíriel also saw the tall man with the horsetail helmet, and she wanted nothing as much as to run into his arms right now.

The water was cold, though, and she knew she had to get to the shore quickly. She could hide behind some rocks until the battle was finished, to keep from getting hurt. So she began to swim for land, aching for the moment she could speak to her beloved. Now he was here, his numbers so strong that Bartas had no longer a fighting chance! In the course of an hour her life had gone to utter darkness, and then risen in perfect light again!

Lothíriel came to the shore, shivering against the cool air. But she had barely made it out of water when she saw movement from the corner of her eye, and there was Bartas again! Somehow, he had followed her!

She darted blindly, terrified of falling into his hands once more. He could try to take her as a hostage, or kill her right there as a form of desperate vengeance...

And then she ran into a human wall and for the briefest second, she thought she was in a dream. Tall as an elf-lord, but younger and wilder... the metallic engravings of his armour shimmered softly in moonlight, his hand was steady and strong as it descended on her shoulder and his arm wrapped around her, and in the other hand he held a sword dripping with blood. She was safe.

"Star-eyes", Éomer choked, and the first sound she could produce was something between laugh and sob.

"What kept you so long?" she asked, scarcely noting how hysterical she sounded, and she would have jumped to kiss him right then hadn't she felt him tensing and seen his expression hardening. Swiftly he pushed her behind himself, to shield her with his own body. Lothíriel knew immediately why he did that.

 _Bartas._

"Give her back, horsemaster!" the corsair demanded, sounding half-mad. It might as well have been a fly making demands to a mountain. Then Amrothos came to her side, and while these two dear men were with her, there was nothing more the corsair lord could do! Lothíriel sobbed in delight as she jumped at her brother, and he seemed to be too overwrought with emotion to say anything, except to hold her tight. Amrothos was here! She didn't know how this had come to be, but she was glad – he must have shown Éomer and his men the other way down to the shore.

"Surrender now, and I will show you mercy, pirate", Éomer spoke, strong and calm as if he had just been having a pleasant stroll down the beach, but in his hand Gúthwinë was ready to strike.

"I had a deal! Her uncle promised her to me!" Bartas shouted, moving sideways as though trying to see her. But Éomer's broad form hid her, and there was Amrothos with his arms around her shoulders, and Captain Éothain had appeared to stand by his king's right hand.

"He had no right to make such promises. She has made her choice, and if you are wise, you will respect it", Éomer answered, as collected as ever.

The pirate seemed mad with rage, and no wonder: those of his crew on the shore had already been slain, and he would be taken captive if he would surrender himself alive. The princess he had tried to snatch away stood only some ten feet from him, and yet she was now removed him for good. This knowledge brought her such relief it was staggering.

But for Bartas there was no such joy, and she wasn't surprised when he suddenly charged at Éomer, his blade lifted. Her beloved was prepared, though, and his parry was ready and swift.

His men stayed back, knowing their king wanted to handle this by himself. They stood and watched as the two combatants exchanged blows and circled one another on the sand. Where Bartas had some advantage due to carrying less gear on him and thus being more agile, Éomer was clearly the stronger one, and calmer, too. And, as Lothíriel observed their fight, she thought the Rohir was also the more skilled swordsman.

However, Bartas did not play a clean game. After some moments, when he had managed to get Éomer from between, he suddenly leaped towards where she was standing – his intentions clear with the gleaming blade. But Éothain had kept his sword unsheathed, and so it was just steel the pirate's weapon came across. Bartas cursed and fell back again, while the company around her closed up their ranks, thus keeping her better protected.

Lothíriel saw fierce concentration on Éomer's face and she knew he wanted to end this struggle quickly. He began to add force into his strikes, testing rather Bartas' endurance than his skill. The pirate cursed in his own tongue and his movements became more frantic as he realised he was starting to lose. And then, in one last desperate charge he swung his sword at Éomer; but instead of a sword's blade, it came to contact with a vambrace lifted to protect his body. The steel cut into the boiled leather but couldn't get through metallic engravings. With that, the King of the Riddermark bought himself the opening he needed.

In one clean, powerful stroke, he beheaded his opponent. The corpse collapsed on the sand as the head flew into the darkness, and the King's Riders gave a mighty shout that echoed in the night. The battle was over.

With a relieved sob, Lothíriel pushed through, and then she was running again. With a few leaping steps she was before Éomer, and his arms were already spread open for her. Crying and laughing at the same time she jumped on him and he caught her, grabbing her tight against himself. Oh, the bliss! Here she was again, this place in his arms which meant all the happiness in the world! He had made it through war and doubt and misfortune, and he had come to her as if somehow, he had heard her plead! She showered his face with kisses, and his fingers traced her features, her back, her arms – as though he was checking she was really there, that the woman he was holding was truly the one he had left so many weeks ago.

"Are you all right? Did they harm you?" he managed to ask, his voice shaky and rough and he spoke in Rohirric, as though he were too beside himself to remember any other language.

"No. I'm fine. I'm fine now", she answered, blinking tears from her eyes – with them blurring her vision, she couldn't properly devour the sight of his face before her. Sweet Elbereth! She had forgotten how he narrowed his eyes when he was doubting some statement, the fierce light in them was sharper than in her memory, and had she ever fully appreciated the lines of his mouth? And he was so warm! No wonder she had felt so cold ever since he had left Aldburg that rainy night!

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for being such a fool. I should have trusted you, Star-eyes, I should have known what you were doing", Éomer said in a shaky voice, and once more she sobbed; at last, after so many months, _it was over._ Somehow, he had come to know the truth, he knew she had never wanted to abandon him, and he was here! And with his return, something that had been broken or just missing for weeks and weeks was finally mended.

"It's all right. Everything's fine now", she stammered, weak with relief and joy, because he wouldn't be holding her like this, or look at her in such a way if that horrible day in Edoras and the following months had killed what he felt for her. Their future was not lost – rather, it was shining brighter than ever.

So she kissed him again, not minding the fact they were surrounded by his men and Amrothos was watching, because she had already thought she would never get to do this again, to feel his weather-beaten cheeks under her fingers or taste his kiss or smell his warm skin... and even when she had to pull back and breathe, she remained close, whispering against his lips, "I missed you so much."

"As I did you", Éomer answered quietly, and had his voice ever sounded so soft and warm? This all seemed like a sweet dream, and she thought she could easily spend the rest of the night just standing there and kiss him.

But he was more practical than that. His expression sobered somewhat, and he pulled back slightly, "Lothíriel, you are shaking! You must be cold. Here's my cloak."

And then he was undoing the clasp of his cloak, and he lifted it from his shoulders. However, before he could wrap it around her, he seemed to become aware of what he was doing.

"Will you take it, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth?" Éomer asked her, his voice suddenly solemn, almost reverent. And judging by his expression he knew she had already realised the significance of what he was asking her. She had been in Rohan long enough to _know,_ to recognise his request for what it was _._ However, not before this moment had she _understood._ The warmth he was offering to her, the care behind it, and an oath of shelter... the cloak stood for all these things and it was the symbol of his promise to share them with her as long as they lived.

"Aye, Éomer of the Riddermark", she answered in his own tongue. No other response would suffice, and the smile it brought to his face would remain with her until the day she died.

Without another word, he wrapped the garment around her and fastened the clasp at her throat, surrounding her in the warmth of the cloak that was green as the great plains of Rohan. Lothíriel smiled, and for the first time since the night she had sent him to hunt orcs, she felt _peace._

* * *

They did not linger on the beach for much longer. Seeing the pirates were finished and it was already very late, Éomer gave orders to return to the villa, and soon enough they were riding back. On the morrow, his men would come and clean up the signs of the battle, but right now getting some sleep was their major concern. Lothíriel could see they had travelled here at great speed, and both men and horses were in the sore need of rest.

When Éomer took her to his horse, Riders bowed their heads at her, and the words _"_ _hlaefdige min"_ were spoken in quiet reverence. They had not missed it when he had taken his cloak and given it to her. She was already their queen.

As they started for the villa, Lothíriel gazed into the bay and saw Bartas' ship sailing quietly into the night. She guessed they had seen what had happened on the shore in bright moonlight, and know their captain was not coming back.

Father had called Bartas a corsair lord, so he must have been powerful among his own people. Had the events of tonight started another cycle of vengeance? Then again, what could it do except to add to the already long list of grievances inflicted on both sides? Not to mention, Lord Aragorn had made sure it would be a long, long time before corsairs of Umbar would again sail in same numbers as before the war. She turned her eyes to the shore once more and sighed softly. It didn't matter, really; Bartas was gone, and she was free to live her life as she wished. It was time to look forward to future.

At the villa, Éomer's men quickly took the house under their control: the doors were unbarred, the dead and wounded were tended to, and Éothain barked orders as his king delivered them to him. It was unlikely another corsair attack should occur, but the company of the King of Rohan would not be taken by surprise.

When the stable doors were opened and the prisoners were freed, Aunt came outside, her face frantic until she saw her niece. She came running for Lothíriel, and her eyes were overflowing with tears when she sobbed, "Oh, dear child! I already thought we had lost you again! Thank all the benevolent Powers!"

The hug she gave to her kinswoman was nearly a crushing one, but thankfully Lothíriel's shoulder's received most of it instead of her stomach. Even so, she knew there was no measuring Aunt's relief.

"Thank Éomer, Aunt, and Amrothos. They were the ones who stopped Bartas", Lothíriel said softly, glancing at the two men standing nearby. Her brother grinned, but her king was watching her quietly.

Aunt sobered somewhat and she startled, as though she saw Éomer only just now. When she started to speak, she sounded wary at first before her voice grew anxious.

"My lord, our family is indebted to you on Lothíriel's behalf. Tonight, we almost lost her again... I do not know if I could have endured it! And her father would simply have been heartbroken! If there is anything we can ever do in exchange, you only need to say so", she stated and then gave him a curtsy. When she straightened again, there was a slight frown on her features. She went on, "I admit I had my doubts about you, King Éomer, but perhaps they were misinformed after all."

"It is all right, Lady Ivriniel. My own actions haven't exactly given any reason to think otherwise", he said, nodding his head at her. Lothíriel smiled to herself – he sounded like he was already becoming a king.

She reached for his hand then, intertwining her fingers with his.

"Will you come with me?" she asked him softly, eagerly thinking of the privacy her chamber would offer them, and the long talk she was hoping to have with him.

But Éomer's brow creased, "I would love to, but first I need to see to the men and -"

"Don't worry about it. Éothain and I can take care of it", Amrothos put in helpfully, and Lothíriel saw a relieved look on her king's face; her brother's offer had just earned him the warmest welcome Meduseld could give. However, Aunt did not seem so delighted with the idea.

"I'm afraid I can't allow -" she started, but again Amrothos interrupted.

"Oh, please, Aunt! Cut some slack, will you? They haven't seen each other in months", he said firmly. Then with another cheerful grin, he added, "Not to mention, I gather according to Rohirric law, they are already married."

Lothíriel mouthed _"thank you"_ to her brother, and Aunt Ivriniel looked helplessly resigned.

"Very well then", she said in a tight voice, sounding like it took a lot of her to relent. But either way she did, and with a smile, Lothíriel reached over to hug both her aunt and her brother. Then she told them good night, took Éomer's hand in her own again, and lead him inside the villa.

When they entered her chamber, she was glad to notice the corsairs had not touched it – she was not in a mood to clean up their mess. Quickly she lit a few candles and then she turned to face him again.

Éomer was still watching her with that same expression on his face, and she thought he looked like he wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not.

"What is it?" she asked him, while reaching for his forearm and starting to undo the buckles of his vambrace.

"It may sound pathetic to you, but I have been mad and anxious for the moment I see you again, and now that you stand before me, I'm afraid I will wake up and realise this is only a sweet dream", he said simply, lifting his arm to help with her task. His words brought her a warm flutter in her chest and she smiled. He went on, "Lothíriel, I cannot tell you how sorry I am. I should have known what you were doing... I should have had faith in you. If you are angry, or if you want to be, then I will not rue you for it."

"Of course I'm not angry. You reacted the way I wanted you to, and so much was going on – you had plenty of more important things to worry about than me", she said softly, moving over to the shoulder plate while he worked over the other. With a small sigh, she continued, "I just wish I had known Mithrandir was coming to Edoras. Then I could have come up with something else... it was the most difficult thing I have ever done, and each second something was screaming in me to look at you..."

"You were terribly brave, Lothíriel, though I can't say I was pleased when I realised you put yourself in that position just to protect me", he said, frowning at her slightly.

"I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if my being a coward put you in harm's way", she told him firmly. He let out a low groan.

"You are impossible, woman", he stated, shaking his head.

"How did you learn the truth, anyway? Did you hear it from Amrothos?" Lothíriel asked then.

"No. It was Brithwen who told me... she reached me at Cormallen at last, and she told me the truth. I'm sorry it took so long. While we were riding for Gondor, she couldn't get a hold of me. And after the battle of Pelennor fields, I refused to see her... I was distracted and the only thing I could think about was my sister. And as Brithwen had got injured in the battle, the healers forbade her from riding for many days. I would have come sooner, if I had known", he explained in a quiet voice.

"You came when it mattered", she said, smiling at him slightly. Brithwen had kept her promise! With that knowledge, what bitter thoughts had remained until now, vanished at last. "Is she all right, at least?"

"Aye. It was nothing worse than a broken arm. She'll be fine", he reassured her. "She would have liked to come with me as well, but she couldn't ride with her injury. And I thought it would be better to leave her behind to listen to what the men are talking. If any might be spreading misinformation about you – well, let us say even with a broken arm, Brithwen is fairly capable of delivering some truths to those who might have it wrong."

Content with this knowledge, Lothíriel nodded. She knew there would be a fair amount of gossiping, even if Brithwen was telling the truth. It wouldn't be easy to reclaim her reputation, but she would be patient and indifferent at the face of any rumours. And from now on, she would not give anyone a reason to doubt her integrity and faithfulness.

The chest plate and chain-mail took some more effort, but when those were off, he looked at her again with some concern.

"Do you... are you well, Lothíriel? Is the baby all right?" he asked carefully, glancing at her noticeably swollen midsection. She had wanted to ask what he thought about it, but at least his query after the well-being of their child implied he was not indifferent.

"I think so. I don't feel like that bit of nonsense down the shore did him any harm. He seems to be very strong and healthy – certainly he has fared better these past two months than I have", she said, and then she smiled, "Well, it's your child. I shouldn't have expected anything less."

Éomer smiled at that too, but then he remembered again something that troubled him.

"Lothíriel, I have been a blind fool and my treatment of you has been unforgivable. I should have come to you after I had been freed, and let you explain everything face to face. I have no excuse for leaving you in such a cruel fashion, and I will be always sorry for that. If... if it has changed your heart and your wishes, then I would understand. What happened on the beach doesn't have to bind you. I won't make you to hold on to any promises – I will let you go, if that is what you want", he started, and she could tell it pained him to say these words aloud. But he still looked straight at her, and he went on in a softer voice, "As for my feelings, they have not changed. I still mean the words I said to you the night we parted. Even when I wanted to hate you, I still couldn't help but love you. And it kills me to think I may have ruined the chance for a life with you as my wife and queen."

There was such agony on his face then, like he truly believed she was going to turn him down any moment now. Only now she realised these past months had been just as painful for him as they had been for her – he had missed her, grieved the idea of losing her. And he had mourned the life they had both thought lost.

Gently she cradled his face between her hands, smoothing her fingers against his cheeks and relishing in feeling the familiar texture under her fingertips. In the sound of his voice, the warmth of his skin, she was _home._

"My heart has not changed, Éomer, and I suspect it never will", she said, struggling against the joyful tears that were starting to pool in her eyes. "I have ached for you just as well, praying for the war's ending and the day you would return to me. And I was so heartbroken, thinking I would never see you again, or have the life we dreamed of together... but if you want to give it another try, I'm here."

She tiptoed to plant a small kiss against his lips, and then she at last told him that thing she should have said long ago: "I love you, Éomer. You have my heart completely, and I'm sorry I was not brave enough to tell you sooner."

The sound he made was too glad, too relieved, to be called either laugh or a cry, and then his arms were around her once more. The kiss that followed was chaos and relief and sheer _joy_ , and it healed the hollow pain of these lonely months that were now behind them. Soon her hands were searching for the hems of his tunic and slipped underneath, and he pulled off that garment in a swift, clumsy movement. Then she was untucking the soft linen shirt he wore underneath, but when her hands moved to the lacing of his breeches, he stopped suddenly.

"Are you certain? The baby..." Éomer asked worriedly, but she smiled at him.

"It's fine, if we are careful", she told him. Truly, how to hold back from him tonight? She had been without him for too long, waited and doubted too painfully. So he went on again, brushing off her tattered dressing gown along with the shift she wore underneath, and he lifted her to the bed. Quickly he kicked off his boots and got rid of his remaining clothing, and then he was next to her once more. It was not very graceful, as they were both quite impatient and beside themselves with reprieve. But he was more careful than usual when he rolled on the top of her and she spread her arms for him. Her breathing hitched when he moved, and she relished in his warmth, in the answer of his body to her. When she touched him, he felt the same as she remembered, and the sensation made her so happy she thought she might just start crying. Oh, how she had missed him! How many nights she had lain awake, sick at heart as she waited and feared the news of his death or some other misfortune! And he had done as she had insisted on that night he had left Aldburg, he had come back to her after all, and her child would have a father; whatever came next didn't scare her, because she was alone no longer.

When he moved next to her again, he did it with a slow, lingering kiss. But he remained close still, and she could feel him shaking – just as she was.

"Never leave me again", he muttered hoarsely against her lips.

"Don't worry. You won't be getting rid of me now", she gently teased him, and he chortled as an answer.

"Excellent", he murmured and kissed her again. At the end of it, his hand came to rest on her stomach.

"I'm glad. I didn't think it would happen so soon, but even so... yesterday I was alone and miserable, and today I have a family", he said, rubbing his hand gently across her skin.

"That's good to hear. I had feared you would panic or get mad. Or ignore us altogether", she said with a slight shudder.

"Don't be silly. It's my child, love, and I won't make the mistake of abandoning my own again. The moment Amrothos told me, I _knew._ I knew and I wanted to have this baby, to make things right with you. I promise people will know it's a dearly beloved child of my line", he told her, like it was all clear to him already.

Then in a softer tone, he asked, "Have you given any thought to names?"

"No. I thought it would just make this harder... to give it a name would mean I had embraced a future where I could have this baby and raise it. But I was afraid Father wouldn't let me keep the child, and if I had given it a name... well, I thought it would be too much to bear", she said quietly. To prevent them both from dwelling on that, she quickly continued, "In any case I think the child of the King of Rohan shouldn't have just any name."

"Aye. You are quite correct", he told her and kissed her again for a while. It was very nice, but eventually he interrupted it with a question: "When did you find out?"

"About a week after you had ridden to Gondor", she answered, remembering how terrified she had been when she first discovered she was with child. Éomer grimaced.

"I can't even think how horrible it was for you, not knowing what would happen to you and the baby and if I was even going to keep my promises. I'm so sorry. Am I starting to repeat myself?" he said in a low voice. He sighed and went on, "Even so, I promise I will never fail you again."

"I know that", she said softly, stroking her fingers through his hair. She had missed this about him, too... would the child have hair like his, as though soft thread of spun gold? Lothíriel looked straight into his eyes then, and she spoke thoughtfully, "I think that was what made it so bad, knowing you wouldn't have left me if I didn't make you. I wish I had just looked at you then. If we had just known Mithrandir was coming..."

"It's no use to regret the things that can't be changed", Éomer said gently, running his fingers across her cheek. "At the very least, you can take pride in how brave you were, and how you managed to fool Wormtongue himself. Not many would have been able to do that."

"Hmm. Well, I thought it was either succeeding in fooling him, or letting him use me against you. So it wasn't like I had choice but to manage", she stated and settled more comfortably on the bed. Then she looked at him again, "Were you very angry with Brithwen?"

"I wanted to strangle her! In fact, I think I still do", he growled under his breath.

"Don't be too harsh to her. The moment I told her who I am really, she didn't hesitate to help me. And she did her best to fix it. It must have taken a great deal of courage. You can be rather intimidating when you get angry", Lothíriel said with a slight smile, and he grunted at that. Then, after a moment's hesitation, she asked: "What do you mean to do with Athilda?"

Éomer's face became dark at the mention of his chatelaine.

"As a matter of fact, I want to strangle her, too. But she can do more good alive. The first thing I'll do when I get back to the Mark, I will confront her and inform her that either she is facing the grave consequences of her actions, or come with me to Edoras, where she will stand on the steps of Meduseld and confess everything she did. She will make sure no one is left with the slightest doubt about your character, love", he answered and rolled on to his back, staring at the ceiling. "Then I will dismiss her and tell her it won't be a good idea to show her face in Edoras any time soon."

"Oh. I had rather thought you were going to flog her, or something", Lothíriel said with some surprise.

"I could go that way, aye. But Athilda is stubborn and proud, and I reckon a humbling of that sort in the very heart of the Mark is a far greater punishment for her than anything else", Éomer said, turning his head to look at her.

Lothíriel smiled.

"You are already thinking like a king", she said fondly. Indeed, an ordinary man would have let their anger get better of them, and make Athilda pay in some crude fashion that really did nothing to actually solve the problem. But Éomer was no ordinary man; this she had known perhaps from the moment she had first seen him in her chamber.

"What did you expect? You're the one who taught me", Éomer said. As a smile grew on his face, he added, "And I have a feeling that if I should have any success at ruling, it will be thanks to you."

"I didn't make you a leader or a good man. Those were your very own gifts all along", Lothíriel said, smiling softly at him. "But I'm flattered if you think so highly of our talks."

"Love, when you come with me to Rohan, I'll let you know just how much I owe to you", he told her firmly, brushing fingers across her cheek and through her hair. But then some regret appeared his eyes, and he continued, "Just know I'm sorry that I didn't put Athilda in line when I still had a chance. I should have done something more... I just didn't realise how deep her hatred ran."

"She's good at hiding things like that. Don't worry about it – you had more important things on your mind at the time... in any case, I don't think there is reconciling with her. It has got too personal", she said and moved to snuggle against him. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to himself once more. After tonight, she wouldn't be feeling cold again.

She looked up at him, "You know, I found out why she hated me so much. Even now, I pity her more than I resent her."

"You did?" Éomer looked surprised.

"Aye. I don't know if I should be telling you this, but I'm sick of untruths. Anyway, Athilda used to have a family back before you returned to Aldburg and took your father's seat. But they were killed by Dunlendings years ago. I suppose that's why she left Westfold and came to live in Aldburg again", she explained to him, and she could see him frowning.

"She never told me any of that", he said in a low voice.

"I don't think she told anybody. But Derehild accidentally heard her talking about it, back when Athilda's nephew was still alive and he was visiting her in Aldburg. She shared the secret with me, probably hoping it would make it easier for me to deal with Athilda's attitude", Lothíriel said and placed her head against his shoulder. It felt so good to be there, as though some missing piece had clicked back into its proper place.

"All the same", Éomer said at length, having mulled over her words for a moment, "it wasn't right for her to take it out on you. I still think it's my fault, too. I admit I have often reacted to her actions more with frustration than with patience."

"Weren't you just telling me it's no use to regret what has been done?" she said gently to him, and he made a low noise at the back of his throat.

She then remembered one more thing she needed to say.

"So, we really are married now?" Lothíriel said, moving so that her chin was on his shoulder.

"I did go and wrap that cloak around you in the front of my men, so yes, according to Rohirric law, we are married", he said and regarded her with some doubt. "I know, it shouldn't have been like that. I wanted to marry you in Meduseld and do it properly. But I couldn't wait, love – if I had, some might have said I hesitated because I wasn't sure if the child is mine. This should send the right message to anyone who might fancy gossip."

"Yes", she agreed, chewing her lip. At the very least, her child's future was now safe. And perhaps the inevitable rumours about her would die out the sooner.

"Hmm. Some wedding night", he said wryly, shaking his head.

"I can't really feel regretful about it", she said, moving her hand to run it over his chest. "I'm just too happy right now, the sky itself would have to fall to ruin it. After all, today the one person I love more than anything came back to me, and my child will have a father."

His face softened at that, and he pulled her closer to kiss her once more. When it ended, he was smiling.

"Aye. That is a very good thing", he agreed in a warm, tender tone.

She smiled as well. It was overwhelming to think of, that they were husband and wife now – at least according to Rohirric law. All that they had hoped was on the brink of becoming true... that was, if her father would acknowledge it. But what reason would he have to decline? She was carrying Éomer's child, they wanted to make things right between their Houses, and his people already regarded her the Queen consort. These musings also brought the next question into her mind.

"So you didn't go to see my father before you came here?" Lothíriel asked him.

"No. The moment I heard your actions in Edoras were just to confuse Wormtongue, and that you are pregnant, I knew I had to come to you as quickly as I could and see if there was any way to mend things between us. It wouldn't have been right to see your father before talking to you. So I rode here straight from Cormallen", he answered, adjusting his arm around her shoulders and running his free hand over her side and hip. Every now and then, he'd gently brush fingers against the side of her belly.

"I'm glad that you did so – and that is not only because if you hadn't, I would already be on my way to Umbar", she said, shivering as she thought of tonight's events. But Bartas was gone now and there was no reason to fear his shadow.

She frowned, "Father won't like it, though."

"Well, it was his daughter I was involved with, not him. You have waited for me to come around much longer than he has. Even if he's angry at first, he should understand eventually I did this for _you._ Isn't that what matters? _"_ Éomer said calmly and held her a bit tighter against himself.

"But aren't you worried for what people will say? They might think you married a bad woman, and that the child isn't yours, even if you wasted no time in cloaking me", she pointed out, growing more concerned as she thought of this.

"Love, I do not really care about what people think. And anyway, marrying you now is the least I can do. I'm not blameless in what happened to you – if I had just wedded you before Athilda and Brithwen could go through with their little plot, then you would have had the protection of my name not only in word but also in action. For one, Wormtongue's riders wouldn't have been able to just take you away, and secondly the men I had left in Aldburg would have been obliged to defend you as their lady and the wife of their Marshal", he answered steadily, resting his hand on her shoulder. "And I have already come too close to losing you. That pain is worse than any insult your or mine society could ever come up with."

His words made her relax, and she settled against him once more. After being lost in her musings for a while, she spoke again, "I just don't want to bring shame to you, dear heart."

"Don't worry about that. In Rohan you are already my wife. That should be convincing enough that I believe you, and acknowledge the child as my own. Eorlingas will not be eager to get to my bad side now that I'm their king. Once they learn the full story, they will know just how brave you are, and admire you for it", he reassured her, idly caressing her back.

It wouldn't be the same in Gondor, she thought, but then again, hadn't she known that a long time now? When she had fallen in love with him, she had given up any chance of a dignified, quiet return to her own society. It had been easier to deal with before, when the whole idea of going back had seemed so distant.

He seemed to sense her uneasy mood, for Éomer lifted her chin gently and looked at her gently.

"Star-eyes, don't be troubled. When you arrive in the court again, it won't be as Imrahil's daughter who is pregnant with some foreigner's child. You'll be the wife of the King of Rohan. And as your husband, I would love to meet anyone who dares to insult you", he told her. She smiled somewhat, though she knew well he wouldn't always be able to be there to shield her. But then he kissed her again, gently massaging the back of her neck and her shoulders.

"It will be all right. We have got this far, and we'll get through this, too", he said softly. At last, her mood eased and she decided it was no use to worry about what was to come.

After one more kiss, he murmured softly, "Let's try to get some sleep. It's very late, and I find I'm rather exhausted. And you should be getting plenty of rest, too."

"Hmm. If my king commands", she said and curled up against him, knowing her dreams tonight would be sweet and peaceful.

"He does", Éomer muttered, sounding already sleepy.

Lothíriel smiled to herself, thinking he had it right indeed. And now that she was not alone anymore, but had him by her side again, she decided she could easily brave whatever challenges the coming days would bring.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Here at last is a new chapter! I was quite busy for the holidays, so I wasn't able to update until now. Hope you like it!

Also I hope the reunion was satisfactory. It felt good writing it, even if I had some problems with the latter part. I suppose the chapters between their parting and the reunion have taken their toll on me as well! But our lovers are together now, and by Rohirric law, they are also married. We'll see what Imrahil will have to say about this!

I admit I'm glad to have brought Bartas into the story. As you may remember from the previous chapter's A/N, in the original version he was supposed to die in the Ring War. But considering he was the source of Lothíriel's conflict in the first place, I think it would have been the wrong choice not to include him properly. And to me this version feels more resolved than the original version. I also hope you liked that Lothíriel fought back when she realised help was coming; I didn't want her to be merely this damsel in distress, but actually have her impacting the event of her rescue.

In case you're wondering how the first draft went entirely, I think I can now reveal it in full. It went about as follows: Lothíriel and Éomer did confess their feelings to one another, but they didn't become lovers. She was taken to Edoras against her will, but instead of being able to fool Wormtongue, she got caught and was about to be sent to Saruman. However, Gandalf and co. arrived just in the nick of the time, and so Éomer and Lothíriel parted in good understanding. Obviously, there was no pregnancy, and she sat quietly in Aldburg until the war ended. Meanwhile, Éomer was sorely tempted to return to Brithwen, but it was mostly because she came to him after the Battle of Pelennor fields, hoping she might find him in a moment of weakness. But he remained faithful to Lothíriel, and Brithwen realised her error.

They were about to meet in Minas Tirith, but it was at that time Brithwen had come to her senses. So, on the night of Aragorn's coronation, Éomer asked to talk with Lothíriel alone in order to discover if she still wanted to marry him, or if she intended to go home. However, Brithwen came to him first to tell him goodbye and to let him go, and Lothíriel saw them and thought they had resumed to each other behind her back. She was so beside herself with hurt and disappointment that she immediately left for Dol Amroth, and Éomer's pride got in the way of things - he thought she had simply abandoned him (much like in the second version).

Eventually, Brithwen and Éowyn helped him to realise he couldn't let Lothíriel just go like that, and so he rode for Dol Amroth. Meanwhile, Lothíriel had been approached by Bartas' younger brother, who hoped to revive the pact his brother and Denethor had made. But this time, it seemed like a more reasonable idea, because the said brother was a fairly sympathetic fellow, and Lothíriel was considered a soiled woman in her own land - even though she hadn't actually been Éomer's lover, people still thought she had disgraced herself. So she was seriously considering accepting the younger brother's proposal, as it seemed like a way to get out. Fortunately, Éomer got to her before she could make her decision, and he apologised to her and asked for a second chance. Realising she was still very much in love with him, she accepted - and they lived happily ever after.

I guess that first draft did have some potential, but to be honest, I think the version I actually wrote was more entertaining. At least, I was more excited to write it than my original ideas. Brithwen certainly comes across as more likeable and I think Éomer and Lothíriel are much more deeply in love in this version, and I feel it's a better conclusion to the original conflict with Bartas.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! I hope you have a great new year!

* * *

 **Rubandepluie -** Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. :) And it felt more satisfying to bring Bartas to an end like this. Like you said, he would have remained too much of a loose end if I hadn't brought him back.

 **Laithril -** Thanks! I think it's not specifically that they are bad at empathy. They just don't understand very well what she went through, and they were too much in shock to realise how much she wanted and needed their support. But I think Amrothos at least is long past his initial shock! Also I think it might have been too much to handle if the chapter had ended without that tiny bit of hope that maybe help was coming!

 **coecoe11 -** You're welcome! :) Hope you liked this chapter!

 **eschscholzia -** Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it. :) Bartas' appearance was indeed rather necessary to tie up that story thread!

 **Anon -** Thanks! I hope you had a great Christmas as well. :)

 **EStrunk -** Thank you! Good to know I was able to convey that nearing misfortune. Thankfully Éomer was able to make it in time! I can't say more about Imrahil right now, but we'll see!

 **Elenya2 -** I'm glad you like the story. However, it is hard to get on with the updates, considering my chapters are usually +7000 words, and they don't write themselves. Plus, Christmas holidays surely messed up my schedule.

 **Sarahweasley -** Here you go!

 **sailor68 -** They are indeed Rohirrim! And that's another reason I like this version of the story better - here I was actually able to bring back that vision Lothíriel saw in the beginning of the story, and have Éomer truly appearing before her with his sword in hand. I think it concludes that thread better than what I originally planned.

 **Wondereye -** Well, considering she had no one to really talk at that point, I guess her musings grew rather desperate.

 **Rinarwen -** :D I do my best! Also thanks for the compliment! I'm glad I managed to convey such a clear picture. :)

 **berry-cool -** Hope you enjoyed the showdown! :)

 **Jen -** I do hope the reunion was satisfactory!


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Lothíriel was still asleep when Éomer woke up the following morning. At once, he became aware someone soft and warm was puffing quietly in his arms, wrapped around him as if to make sure he wouldn't vanish during the night, and he smiled in sleepy bliss as he remembered just who it was. Last night, he had slept better than in months and on his mind there had been a deep sense of peace. Certainly it had been many times more restful than any of those fitful nights spent on the road from Cormallen.

His company had travelled at great speed, hastening towards the seaside villa where Lothíriel had been taken. Éomer could not explain it bu t he had been deeply apprehensive from the moment he had heard the truth, and he had feared something bad would happen if he didn't get to her quickly. Now he was glad to have pushed the men and horses so: they had arrived here just in the nick of time. Had they been postponed even a few more moments... well, Lothíriel would be gone now, and he doubted he'd ever have seen her again.

Of course, he had been entirely aware maybe she wouldn't be welcoming him back with open arms. He had thought maybe she'd be angry and blame him for her misfortunes, tell him to get out of her sight forever. But while the idea was painful, he knew he had to try at least. He had to apologise to her and let her know he was hers to choose, if she still wanted.

He recalled those anxious moments before they had reached the villa last night. Riding foremost of his company, he had thought he saw something moving quickly in the darkness, and then her voice... Lothíriel had screamed his name in distress., and at once he had known she was in peril. At the sound of her need, something had just _exploded_ in his blood, and he had urged Firefoot into a mad charge to get to her. Even if it had been Sauron himself standing between him and her that moment, Éomer would have hewed him down to reach his princess.

It was a good thing they had got Amrothos along: without the prince, Éomer might not have figured out what exactly was happening quickly enough. But having been born and bred on these shores, the prince had swiftly realised it was corsairs attacking the villa, and that they were already making for the beach. From Lothíriel's cry, they both knew she had been taken captive, and pirates were fully meaning to whisk her away with them. Thankfully, Amrothos had also known another way to get to the beach, thus allowing them to fall on the pirates before they could make their escape into the depths of the night. Panic had threatened to take him when he hadn't been able to see her on the beach, but he had told himself Lothíriel would fight back – she wouldn't allow them to take her easily, if help was near.

And then she had come running in the darkness, colliding with him as she fled from the man pursuing her... when she was in his arms again, safe and sound and weeping in relief, he thought he might just die from sheer joy. Béma, he had forgotten how very lovely she was, and the light of her bright eyes had him undone just the way he had feared on those moments he had still been under the impression she had been but using him... and he would never stop loving her or wanting her, because since this princess had entered his life, he had been changed for good.

There had been one more thing to attend to before he could fully relish their reunion, but he had been able to beat Bartas soon enough – he guessed it was because the pirate had known he was done for the moment Éomer's company had arrived on the beach. Now that threat on her life was gone for good, and she slept peacefully by his side...

He moved slightly so that he could watch her properly. There was something almost _healing_ about just looking at her face and knowing he had not ruined things with her. As he regarded her now and saw how her very features held that sweetness and warmth, he could only wonder how he had ever fallen for that act she had made back in Edoras. What a lucky fool he was, to be welcomed back so warmly, and with those very words he hadn't thought to hear from her! And having come so close to losing this woman, he vowed silently he would never make such mistake again.

 _His wife._ Well, Imrahil might have a thing or two to say about that. But his entire guard had seen the cloaking, Prince Amrothos seemed to approve, and she _was_ pregnant. All Éomer wanted to do was take care of her and the child, and provide them with a life they deserved. What else could her father want? Yet, he didn't feel like much had changed with the marriage. She had been the companion of his heart for a while now, and last night had just been making it official. In Rohan, she was his consort either way. Hopefully, Imrahil wouldn't take this too badly – this he wished more for her sake than for his own. His Lothiriel had been through enough hardship as it was.

She shifted and yawned, and slowly her eyes fluttered open. There was that sweet, sleepy look in them, along with a smile that made him weak with tenderness. Briefly he wondered if this sensation of relief and joy might cease from washing over him any time soon, though he rather doubted it. And only now was he understanding the full measure of how much he had missed her.

"Morning", he murmured and moved closer to kiss her. She welcomed that, answering the affections in slow, contented warmth. Her hands slipped under the blankets, quickly engaging his full attention. The woman had not lost her touch in the slightest!

He did not last long in her arms, but they had the entire day before them, and he could spare a couple of days here at the villa before he'd have to ride back to Mundburg. Of course, they had yet to figure out what they should do now, and what to tell her father. Even so, for this golden morning's moment, he would not worry about anything.

She rolled on the top of him afterwards, which he rather appreciated, and they remained so for a while. If this was a dream and in truth he was back at Cormallen, or some battleground maybe, he'd kill the man who woke him up.

"Do you want to get up?" Lothíriel asked eventually and reached to kiss the tip of his nose.

"Never. This is perfectly fine", Éomer told her, wondering if he could persuade her to stay in the bed for the entire day.

"Usually I would agree, but I think _someone_ is hungry", she said with a smile, rolling away once more. But he followed suit and covered her bare stomach in kisses.

"You're lucky I already love you so much", he told her belly in a stern voice, and his wife laughed softly. She patted his cheek affectionately as she sat up on the edge of the bed.

"I'll ask someone to draw us a bath. I don't know about you, but I could use a wash", she said as she got up, stretching as she moved to search for something to dress in.

She had just wrapped a dressing gown around herself when there was a knock at the door. Flashing a smile to the man lounging on her bed, she went to answer it, while Éomer crossed arms under his head and admired the vision that was his wife. She had this healthy look about her, though she was a bit skinny – he would have to make sure she'd eat more. Hopefully, knowing her future was safe would also help her to stay well for the remainder of her pregnancy.

It turned out there was a servant at the door, and they had given Lothíriel a tray loaded with breakfast enough for three people. Éomer hurried to catch it from her.

"You shouldn't be carrying heavy things", he told her as he lifted it in his own hands. She wrinkled her nose at him.

"Not you, too! I don't need any more people fussing about me!" she said, throwing up her hands.

"I'm the father, nobody gets to fuss as much as I do", he said nonchalantly and carried the food to a table by the window. Lothíriel rolled her eyes and muttered something about impossible Rohirrim, but she was smiling and she looked happy, and that was what mattered.

The morning went by slowly and pleasantly. They ate and had a bath, and they talked about the time they had been parted. He told her about the war and how he had raced here with his men, though he spared her from the most gruesome bits, and she described how weeks had gone by in Aldburg. She also told him about her disastrous conversation with her father and Éomer frowned, feeling they would not have easy time getting back to Imrahil's good side. Though his beloved looked peaceful, he could sense the pain that hid behind her words – she had been lonely and afraid and she had been hurting, thinking he would not be coming back to her. He just hoped all this stress would not impact the baby in a bad way.

He would have been entirely glad to spend the day without leaving the room, but eventually Lothíriel said she wanted to talk to her brother, and at any rate he should speak with Éothain and find out how the night had gone. So, after making themselves presentable again, they made way outside.

Éomer found his captain in the courtyard, but his wife went on to search for Amrothos – though not before he had kissed her properly. He felt a little smug about her flustered expression, which apparently showed, because Éothain was grinning indulgently when he approached the younger man.

"So, married life is agreeing with you?" asked the captain in a pleasant tone.

"It's not bad", Éomer said nonchalantly. Before his friend could make jokes at his expense, he quickly continued, "How did the night go?"

"Very quiet. I don't think those corsairs will be coming back", Éothain answered. He rubbed his chin, "How do you think they were able to get away when Aragorn's company fell on them? I thought our friend had destroyed their fleet."

"Well, I suppose a ship or two managed to slip away. Bartas and his crew rather strike me as that sort of type, judging by the way the rest of them just sailed away when his raiding party was surrounded", Éomer said, shrugging as he spoke. "Even so, keep the watch turns going. I don't want anyone approaching this place without my knowing about it."

"Of course", Éothain said and nodded. Again that grin appeared on his face, and he said, "I'm glad you were able to fix things with her."

"As am I. It's more than I deserve after the way I treated her", Éomer said, shaking his head. It was still a bit hard to believe his luck, or that she would welcome him back so easily. He looked at his captain again, "Tell me, what do the men think about her? Do they like their new queen?"

"I believe they do. They think she is brave, which is a wonderful quality in a queen. She already knows our tongue and her way around in our land. And we are glad there may be an heir in the land some time soon. They also know she has you wrapped around her little finger, which they enjoy a great deal. Hopefully, she'll also help you to loosen up a bit", Éothain said, growing cheerful again.

"I'm not even surprised to hear you and the lads think so", Éomer snorted and shook his head. "But it all depends on what Imrahil will say."

"Well, what _can_ he say? We think she's our queen, she is going to have your child, and it would strengthen the ties between our lands. Union between her House and yours is not a bad idea at all, and a sharp man like Prince Imrahil should agree to that", Éothain said, shrugging as he spoke. "But in any case I'll have Firefoot ready, if you need a quick getaway."

"I'm so thankful", Éomer said wryly, much to his friend's amusement.

Éothain sobered up then, and he asked, "How soon will we head back to Mundburg?"

"I think we can spare one more day. It should be well for the men and horses after our ride here. But we'll have to make haste on our way back as well. I cannot be late to Aragorn's coronation", said the young king.

"What of the Lady Lothíriel?" Éothain wanted to know.

"I'll talk with her brother and ask him to take her to Dol Amroth for the time being. She is safer there. I'm not leaving her here again, exposed to more attacks. Of course, it's not likely there are more corsair ships prowling nearby, but she's my queen now and she's carrying my child", Éomer answered, rubbing the back of his head and considering the possibility of commanding a few of his own Riders to accompany her. Imrahil might not like it, but at least it would deliver a message to the society in Dol Amroth: the King of Rohan had sent knights of his own guard with her. It may not cut the wings of all rumours, but at least he hoped it would make things a bit easier for her.

Once he had made sure things would run smoothly for the remainder of their stay here, Éomer headed back inside to seek for Lothíriel again. Considering he'd have leave her again soon – though hopefully not for long – he was keen to spend every available moment in her presence. And they still had to figure out what he should tell her father.

He found her in what looked like a dining hall with her brother and aunt, but she quickly excused herself from their company when he arrived. Lady Ivriniel still seemed like she didn't know what she thought of all this, but Amrothos was grinning – if the prince had ever had any doubts, they were long gone.

When Éomer was alone with Lothíriel, he spoke again, "I was thinking of what I should say to your father when we meet in Mundburg."

"So you think I shouldn't come along?" she said, frowning as she spoke.

"I wouldn't be against it if the situation was any other. But we will have to ride hard to make it in time. It wouldn't be good for you or the baby", he explained.

"I don't like it. I should be there as well. Otherwise, it's going to be hard to convince him", Lothíriel said uneasily. He could very well understand it, especially after the way she and her father had parted. And she was right: Imrahil might not believe him when he said this had been decided between them in full understanding.

"I know. That's why I need to know what you think, and if there's anything in particular you want me to tell him... if you can think of any way to make him believe me", he said, pulling her to sit on the bed with him.

"To be honest, I haven't even had time to think of it. This all has happened so fast... I wasn't expecting to be reunited with you like this", she answered, crossing her feet under herself.

"Aye. I didn't handle it very delicately", he agreed, but she patted his chest dismissively.

"Love, you are not a delicate person and if you were, we wouldn't be sitting here right now", she reminded him. For some reason her words made him smile. She smiled too, and continued, "It's what makes Aunt so bewildered. She can't comprehend how her demure little niece could possibly fall in love with someone so... so..."

"So what?" Éomer asked, his amusement growing.

"So unhinged _",_ Lothíriel finished at last, and he laughed. His wife smiled mischievously, "Just so you know, I like when you're unhinged. But don't tell her that."

"Watch your mouth, Star-eyes. I was meaning to talk seriously with you, and you are not helping at all", he told her in a low voice, and though she didn't say anything, her eyes were sparkling and she was looking so mirthful he had to shift his gaze away in order to focus on something else than wanting to kiss her.

"I will try to compose a letter to Father", she said then, sounding more serious now. "Just to make sure he won't blame you of putting ideas in my head, or something of the sort. But in any case, I trust you. You know I want to come back to Rohan with you, and I wish him to give us his blessing."

"It means a lot to you, doesn't it?" Éomer asked, speaking gently now.

"Yes", she said softly, lowering her eyes. "I just want him to accept my choices, even if he can't understand them. I want to make peace with him."

She let out a small sigh as she picked up his hand in her own, running her fingers over his knuckles as she continued to talk, "I remember how sad he was to send me away, and how difficult it was for us both. And I could scarcely wait to see him again... but he was so angry with me when he saw I'm pregnant – it didn't feel like he was glad at all I was safe and sound. In a way, it's like I haven't really been reunited with the father I know and love."

"He loves you, Lothíriel – he loves you so much, even if he's angry and upset right now. If only I could lend you my eyes and show you the way he looked at me when he heard you were safe in Aldburg! Dear heart, he just needs to get over the shock", he told her, reaching with his free hand to rub her back gently. She sniffled and looked at him tearfully.

"I'm sorry – I didn't mean to cry. I just don't seem to be able to help it these days", she said and wiped her hands across her eyes.

"It's fine. You have been through so much as of late", he reminded her, and she made a soft sound as she wrapped her arms around him. There was still such relief in holding her, and he knew he was lucky their relationship had not been ruined by his actions. But she was faithful and true, and with such a woman by his side, he knew he could be king.

"Mm. I think it will be getting better, now that I know I haven't lost you", she said softly, resting her head against his shoulder.

They remained so for a while, both just relishing the tender moment. After so many months of being parted from her, Éomer felt he could have remained like this for hours. Slowly he combed his fingers through her hair, and quietly he wondered how he could have even thought of living without this woman. And now that doubt and darkness lay behind and they were together again, it felt as though he had finally woken from some bad dream.

Eventually she shifted and looked up at him once more. Now her expression was calm, and there was no trace of tears.

"Could you sit down on the floor? I haven't given you a proper rubbing yet", she said, and he smiled as an answer.

"Gladly, my lady", he readily answered and slipped down on the floor. He settled down before her legs, already eager for her touch. He was rather convinced there was some kind of spell to Lothíriel's touch – or, at least, his muscles had never been quite as stiff as these past weeks.

She started to knead his shoulders, and soon she grumbled in distaste, "What on earth have you been doing? Your back never felt like this before!"

"What can I say? I'm helpless without you", he said, eyes closed and smiling.

"Obviously!" Lothíriel snorted and continued more vigorously. Soon enough, he felt like he was melting under her hands. If she wanted, she could probably make him pass out right there on the floor.

With the magic of her hands, the strain that had stubbornly remained in his muscles was eased at last. Béma, he had needed that!

"Better now?" Lothíriel asked when she had finished. With a smile, he turned and lifted himself on one knee before her.

"Much better. You are a wonder, Star-eyes", Éomer told her and reached to kiss this woman he loved madly. She made a soft little chortle against his mouth, and then her hands wrapped from under his armpits, pulling him to her and into the bed.

It was getting very interesting, and his hand was under the collar of her dress, when Amrothos decided to show off his abysmal sense of timing. There was the sound of knocking first, and then a voice: "Oi, you two! Are you decent?"

"Amrothos! Now is not a good time!" Lothiriel croaked, looking supremely frustrated. And no wonder – she had just been about to unlace the Rohir's breeches.

"I know, but you can hardly blame me for that! I didn't know Father was coming here!" came the answer.

The two froze, staring at each other in surprise. It was her who regained her voice first: "What?!"

"You heard me! Father's ship just sailed into the bay!"

* * *

It took a minute for the news to sink in: Father was about to arrive. When Éomer had rolled from the top of her, Lothíriel jumped up on her feet and raced to the window. There she saw Amrothos had not been joking. A tall, proud ship had just glided into the bay, and it carried the banner of Prince Imrahil himself.

So, as quickly as they could, she and Éomer made themselves presentable again, and she smoothed down her hair as well as she could. But then she looked at her beloved, wanting to ask what he thought. She couldn't deny she was nervous – even if she had previously told him she'd like to face her father together.

Éomer noticed her uneasiness. Gently he reached for her hand and clasped it inside his own.

"Don't worry, love. He is not an unreasonable man", he told her softly.

"I was just thinking maybe you should have your horse ready, in case he's very angry with us", she muttered, shaking her head. Elbereth! She had no reason to consider this would go any better than the last time she had seen Father.

"It will be all right. I promise", he told her and gave her a long, calming kiss. At the end of it, he smiled slightly, "We'll tell him it's in everyone's best interests. An alliance between our peoples is a good thing, and with you as Rohan's queen, Dol Amroth will profit just as well."

Lothíriel took a deep breath and nodded. Considering Éomer had made sure Bartas' shadow would never bother her again, Father would have to be grateful.

"Let's go, then. The sooner this is over, the better", she stated and placed her hand on his arm.

Together they made way outside and into the courtyard. Aunt Ivriniel was already there, and Amrothos joined them as well. Riders of Éomer's guard stood by, quiet but prepared. She could only wonder what they made of this – and if they thought they would have to stand against Prince Imrahil in order to defend their queen.

Soon enough sounds of marching feet began to approach, and the gates were opened to the Prince Imrahil. He came first and was trailed by a company of Swan Knights of Dol Amroth. Lothíriel's first instinct was to rush to hug her father, but the memory of their last meeting had her standing back. She swallowed and held Éomer's hand a bit tighter, and he squeezed hers comfortingly. Her king stood next to her as calm and collected as only a warrior who has seen great horrors could stand.

Warily she sought the eyes of her father, looking for some sign of what he thought of the scene before him. Was he angry to see Éomer here? Did he think the Rohir had been imperious and disrespectful to come here instead of seeking her father in Minas Tirith? However, Father's face did not betray what was going on in his mind.

When he was close enough, Éomer raised his voice, though his tone was friendly and peaceful, "Well met again, Prince Imrahil. I did not know we would have the pleasure of you joining us."

There was the barest shift on Father's face before he answered, "Well, I had rather thought you would know to expect my imminent arrival. I departed Minas Tirith the very same day I heard you had ridden south, meaning to visit my daughter without even talking to me first."

"Father, I do believe it was his right to come and see the woman who is carrying his child", Lothíriel pointed out.

Again she saw that little twitch about his features, which betrayed the amount of restraint that was going into his countenance right now. But she met his gaze boldly and she made no secret of holding Éomer's hand in her own. Deep down, she wanted to make things right with her father, but she hadn't forgotten their last meeting, and fixing this would require he wanted it, too.

"I know how this must seem like to you, my lord, and I fully understand all the resentment you must be feeling due to our actions. Even so, I would have you know that I truly love your daughter and I came here like this because I thought it was the only way I could do right by her. Prince Imrahil, I wish to repair things and keep the promises I made to Lothíriel", Éomer said, serene and sincere, and she couldn't see how anyone could doubt his words.

For a moment, Father stood there in silence. He regarded her at first, and then Éomer. Even now, she couldn't read his expression or guess what would be his next words.

"Brother, I advise you listen carefully to this man and treat him with utmost respect. For only last night he and his company saved the life of your only daughter", Aunt Ivriniel said suddenly, her voice strong and loud. Lothíriel cast a grateful look at the older woman. At last, she was on her side.

"What do you mean, sister?" Father asked, narrowing his eyes in doubt.

"Bartas came back. He and his pirates attacked the villa only last night, and they would have taken Lothíriel away, hadn't King Éomer and Amrothos reached this place just in time", Aunt answered.

"Captain Éothain can take you to the graves. He and his men buried the last of them less than an hour ago", Amrothos added helpfully. "I saw it, Father. They were trying to carry Lothíriel away. Elbereth knows what else they would have done to this place hadn't we arrived just then. I think you should be glad to know Éomer took care of Bartas personally."

Father's face had gone pale as bone. He stood motionless, staring at the group before him, as though a man in the middle of a nightmare. When he was able to speak at last, it was in a thin and weak voice.

"Lothíriel, are you all right?" he simply asked, as though any other words were beyond him.

"I'm fine. Thanks to Éomer", she replied and looked up at the man next to her. He met her gaze quietly, and his eyes were soft and warm.

"I would like to talk with you, King Éomer, and then with my daughter", Father eventually said, and he delivered the sentence slowly, as though it took serious effort.

The Rohir by her side nodded. Nothing about his features betrayed any uncertainty or lack of resolution, and it consoled her a bit. Maybe such confidence would convince her father, too.

"As you wish, Prince Imrahil."

* * *

Imrahil did not speak as he lead Éomer through the villa and into what looked like some sort of a sitting room. Gondorians were fond of those, he had gathered, and truth was the entire layout of this villa was so complicated he had hard time finding his way without someone leading the way.

But when the door was closed behind them and Imrahil was undoing the clasp of his cloak, the Prince asked: "What happened here last night?"

So Éomer began to explain what had taken place: how he and his company had arrived only to find the villa under a corsair attack, and the events that followed. The Prince of Dol Amroth listened in silence. Only his expression revealed his shock and horror, and his hands gripped the back of a chair so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"So my daughter or the baby were not hurt?" Imrahil asked at last, when Éomer had finished.

"No. I believe Bartas wanted her unharmed, and only wished her ill when she managed to escape from his hands. Your daughter acted very bravely, Prince Imrahil – she told me how she was able to delay them, and buy me time to surround them on the beach", the Rohir answered.

The Prince looked away and looked deeply distressed, and Éomer thought he could hear him speak some quiet words like a prayer. Seeing how the man was still so beside himself, he decided to continue to talk.

"I believe the men you left guarding this place would be happy to give their own account of the attack, and like Amrothos promised, Éothain will show you where my men buried the bodies of those pirates", he said then, regarding Imrahil calmly as spoke. "As for myself, I admit my decision to cloak Lothíriel was an impulsive one – at least as far as timing goes. Do not doubt it was preceded by months of consideration, or that it was wanted by us both. Even then, I knew that any delay on my part might imply that I doubted her loyalty, or that I'm not convinced the baby is mine. My lord, I know my actions have not been always the wisest or most careful, but I love her more than I could ever tell you. I only wish to take responsibility for my actions and take care of Lothíriel, and the child."

Imrahil stood quietly now, gazing at him with a strange look the younger man didn't know how to read. So Éomer continued, in a softer tone, "I understand if you are angry, but please, make me the target of it. Don't take it out on your daughter. She was alone, she was homesick, and each day she had to pretend being someone she isn't. You do not know how much she suffered, waiting for news from you and aching for the word that would summon her back home. She told me she often had nightmares before our relationship grew more intimate, and there were nights I woke up to her sobbing for her father. Imrahil, Lothíriel is innocent. Do not judge her for the warmth and comfort she sought in a situation which would have claimed the life and sane mind of any lesser person, man or woman."

The Prince turned away and for a while he remained silent. What he was thinking of then, Éomer could only guess. He was quiet as well, waiting for the man's reaction, and thinking of what he would say next. He wasn't going to back down now, not when he had already once come so close to losing Lothíriel.

"You truly love my daughter", Imrahil said at last, his voice soft. It almost held the note of defeat as he gazed down at something on the floor.

"Aye. We didn't plan it, but it happened, and I cannot change how I feel about her. Believe me, I have tried", Eomer answered, noting that there was a kind of fragility in his tone, but he didn't rue it; perhaps it would help to convince Imrahil he only wanted to care for his wife and child.

The older man sighed and turned to look at the Rohir at last. His earlier anger was gone, and instead he just looked resigned. Éomer knew he had realised he was fighting a losing battle.

"And what do you suggest we do now? People will know this story. It might reflect badly on all of us, and our families", Imrahil said at last.

"I will make sure Rohirrim know the truth – that your daughter was innocent, and she was always faithful. My people are not likely to regard her badly for her relationship with me. And if any fool might want to spin ill stories about her, they know what my response to it would be", Éomer started slowly, and then let out a small sigh. "It will be harder for you, I imagine. But Aragorn will be on our side, and I hope it will have some impact if he should welcome your daughter when I present her as my wife and the Lady of the Mark."

"I wish it was that easy. But there will still be talk", Imrahil said, his face uneasy.

"That is probably inevitable. However, Lothíriel is strong, and after her ordeals, talk is not going to hurt her. In fact, I'm fairly sure her time in Rohan has given her plenty of ideas of how to answer to any smart talk. I am sure her grace and upbringing will shine out from her even to those who would hold her actions against her. In time, people will see she was born to be a queen, not made by others", Éomer said confidently. Hadn't he witnessed her mental strength so many times? And hadn't she got through the challenges of her exile and the following events with determination and courage anyone could admire? Against all that, gossip was a fairly ridiculous thing.

The Prince sighed and laid his blue cloak on the back of a chair.

"So you wish for my blessing", he said quietly, lowering his eyes.

"Aye. It would mean the world to both of us", Éomer answered, keeping his tone soft and friendly.

"Well, I suppose I should talk to Lothíriel first. We parted in unpleasant terms, and I should know what she thinks of all this", Imrahil said at last, straightening himself. While this response did not help with the Rohir's impatience, he held his tongue. After everything they had already put Imrahil through, they owed him this much.

"All right. I shall wait outside."

* * *

When Éomer emerged from the sitting room, Lothíriel ceased her restless pacing along the corridor. She looked hopefully at her beloved, but he simply said her father wanted to talk to her. As far as she could see, nothing much had been settled yet – except, at least, the fact Father wasn't going to kill Éomer. That in itself was a minor victory.

"Don't worry", her king said to her gently, kissed her cheek, and then told her he would be waiting.

Lothíriel only managed a nod. Then she headed for the door he had left open, and entered the sitting room.

Father was now standing at the window, gazing to the sea. When she saw him again, the memory of their reunion came back to her, making her shiver. It was rather high among the things she felt bad about, especially when she remembered how much she had missed him during her time in Rohan.

"Father?" she called to him softly, and he turned to look at her. If only she could have just read his expressions, the way she used to before this! "Father, Éomer said you wanted to talk with me."

"Yes, I did", he said in a low, solemn tone. Then something troubled appeared on his face, and he went on, "Éomer told me everything about last night. Are you sure you are all right, daughter? Is the baby fine?"

"No, I'm fine, and I think the baby is well, too. It wouldn't have been in Bartas' interests to harm me – not before the end, at least", she answered, grimacing at the thought of the pirate.

"To think he would have got away with it, if Éomer had not arrived then... for that, I will owe him as long as I live", Father said, shaking his head. The uneasy look remained on his face when he continued, "I am sorry for not providing you with better protection... it was a foolish mistake on my part, and I regret it deeply. I know it means very little, but I was so wrapped up in my anger that it clouded my judgement and prevented me from realising the danger I was putting both you and my grandchild."

"I'm not angry about it. None of us expected Bartas to come back", Lothíriel said quietly.

"Maybe so, but he got this close to taking you from us forever. That is something I cannot forgive myself, Lothíriel", Father said and a pained expression flashed across his features. She wondered if he'd welcome her comforting him, but Father spoke again before she could fully entertain that idea. He said, "Éomer has indeed done a great service to our entire family. I suppose I wasn't giving him the courtesy he deserved until now... he was very decent when we talked."

"What did he say?" she inquired her sire, wishing she could have been present for the conversation. But on the other hand, she could see why the two men had wanted to have it alone.

"That is between me and him, daughter. But it made me realise I had rather misunderstood your relationship with him... that what he did for you has put me under a debt that goes even beyond the events of last night", Father said and sighed, turning to pour himself a drink. Staring at the glass in his hand, he continued to talk, sounding almost as though he was speaking to himself, "He reminds me so much of his father. Éomund had the same spirit, and he was just as headstrong... I remember how he used to talk about his family and how they were the most beautiful thing in the world. He loved them so much... and Éomer sounds exactly the same when he speaks of you and the baby."

"So you believe me now? That he was not using me, but wanted to marry me long before anything serious happened between us?" Lothíriel asked.

"Oh, I do. He wouldn't have come here like that, or spoken to me in such a way, if he didn't love you very much, Lothíriel", Father said evenly and looked at her. Suddenly, it seemed to her he was very sad.

He laid the glass on the table and approached her, though he remained at arm's reach. He spoke again, "I am so sorry for the way I reacted when we last met. I know it's not the way you wanted to be welcomed home...I was cold and unfair, refusing to listen to you when you were begging me to hear. I would understand if this has made you think that I do not care about you. But truth is, Lothíriel, I have missed you so much during this past year! Every day, I second-guessed our plan and wondered if you were even alive! Often I was afraid my desperate attempt to protect you had only got you killed far away from home. My dear child, I think it would have driven me mad if something had happened to you! And then war came, and I met Éomer after the battle before the walls of Minas Tirith. How glad I was to hear you were all right!"

He looked down then, with such a mixture of pain and joy on his face that her heart went out to him. She had been so angry with her father, thinking he was about to disown her any moment. But now he stood there before her, the man who had raised her and loved her and been ready to defy Lord Denethor himself to keep her safe!

"As for how I reacted when you returned... I suppose it was ultimately because I thought I was losing you again. Or rather, I wasn't even getting you back, like I had hoped. There you were before me, and I could see that you had moved on – you were not the girl who slipped away from me that night on the ship. You didn't depend on me anymore, and it seemed that Éomer had stolen you from us. Had I made my sacrifice for nothing, and was losing you no matter what I did? I felt so betrayed, my dear daughter. Yes, I was mortified to think of the scandal this could cause, but the true reason my response was so violent is because I could not even think of letting you go. And so I sent you as far away from Minas Tirith as possible, thinking that was the way we could still keep you with us", Father explained, and she could no longer just stand back. So Lothiriel let out a cry of delight, and she jumped to hug him, sobbing as she did.

"I missed you so much, Ada. I thought I'd never see you again", she whimpered helplessly, her grip of him as tight as his was around her.

"And I missed you too, my dear child, my only daughter. I'm so sorry about everything – for not being the father you waited for and needed upon your return", he answered, and he sounded like he was only holding back his tears with considerable effort.

So they clung to each other for a good while, stammering their apologies and explanations and promises that all was forgiven. It was so relieving that it made her dizzy, and her heart sang in joy. At last things were put right and she didn't have to carry any longer that burden of thinking her father now hated her! After so many months, after their painful parting that night she had disappeared into the night, they were truly reunited again.

When they had both calmed down, she spoke more evenly again.

"Father... I know it went in the wrong way with Éomer, but... he's the one I want, and I can't change that. It would make us both so happy to have your blessing. And it's lot to ask, but it would mean so much to me to have your acceptance. I can't bear thinking you hate me for what I did", she said, searching her Father's eyes pleadingly. He met her gaze gently.

"I don't hate you for anything, daughter. What Éomer said to me before... I see now I have only the barest inkling of all that you had to go through in order to survive. And you were right in Minas Tirith. _I_ put you on that road, Lothíriel, and I didn't even give you the hope of coming home. In the end, I do not have a right to judge you for your actions. Perhaps I should be thanking your horselord for being there for you and giving you a reason to be happy again. I know now it's thanks to him that you were able to return to us, alive and safe", Father answered in a soft voice, and hearing his words, she could only hug him again.

When she pulled back, she saw a troubled look on his face.

"Daughter, I know I cannot stand in your way. It is too late now for that. Yes, I will give you my blessing, and I acknowledge the fact that according to Rohirric law, you are his wife", Father said, and she was just about to squeal in delight when he spoke again in a slightly stronger voice: "However, I do have a condition."

* * *

The time Lothíriel spent in the sitting room with her father seemed unbearably long. Much like she had before him, Éomer was now pacing up and down the corridor, and throwing suspicious glances at the door between him and the two. Rationally, he knew they needed to talk things through in peace. She had told him of the way she and her father had parted in Mundburg, and more than anything he wanted that pain taken away from her. But it still didn't help with his impatience, and after everything that had happened, he just wanted to put an end to the waiting. He wanted the certainty that she wouldn't be gone again, that she would _stay._ And after all this madness, he just wished to take his family home.

At last the door opened, and she came outside. The expression on her face was an odd one, making him immediately worried.

"How did it go? What did he say?" he wanted to know, trying not to sound overly anxious.

"Let's go talk outside", Lothíriel merely said, taking his hand in her own. The Rohir felt like his heart had relocated at the bottom of his stomach and he gritted his teeth. _Bad news, then._

With a rather serious effort of will, he was able not to bombard her with questions on their way outside. Really, he didn't understand this – he had thought Imrahil would relent. What purpose could it possibly serve to try to separate them?

"Don't worry, love. Father just has a condition", Lothíriel said, having noticed his uneasiness as they came outside.

"A condition? What kind of a condition?" Éomer asked warily, not allowing himself feel relieved yet.

She let out a small sigh and intertwined her fingers with his, holding a bit tighter to his hand.

"Father will give us his blessing, and he promised he will acknowledge we are married", she said to him softly, but her voice grew more strained when she continued, "but he insists me to return to Dol Amroth. He wants me to stay there until next summer, when it should be safe for the baby to travel."

"What!" Éomer spoke loudly, halting there in the middle of the courtyard and tensing from head to toe. What was Imrahil thinking?!

Angrily he stared at his wife, and he demanded, "How can he possibly ask that? An entire year! My child born in Gondor! And Rohirrim without their queen!"

"Please, don't get angry, love. I told him you wouldn't like it. But as far as I can see, he's not going to back down on this condition", she said and turned to look properly at him. Gently, she cradled his face between her hands, smoothing her fingers across his cheeks. It was incredibly difficult to hold on to his outrage when she touched him so.

Lothíriel continued in a tender tone, "I know how it seems like now. I'm not happy about it, either. But try to understand my father. This time has been so hard for him, and me returning pregnant has been a great shock. Can you imagine? Spending all those months wondering if I was even alive anymore, and then upon my return he realises he's losing me again, and for good this time. He just wants me back home for a little while, so that he can say his goodbyes properly. Love, we will have our entire lives together, if we can do this one more thing."

"I don't like it. So many things could go wrong! He was so worried how it'll look like – well, it's definitely going to be bad now, if you just go back to Dol Amroth without me!" he said anxiously, and a bitter sensation was beating hard against his chest. A year! How was he supposed to manage for an entire year! He was sure to go mad!

Half seriously he looked at her, and he continued to speak, "We could just leave. We could go to the Mark right now and leave this nonsense behind."

But Lothíriel looked at him with distressed eyes.

"And then we would have his anger upon ourselves. Éomer, I can't do that. I can't just leave him. Not again", she said quietly, and at once he regretted his careless words. But his heart remained uneasy and he felt like there was an iron band around his chest, growing tighter and tighter the longer he thought of the idea of waiting for an entire year to start their life together. And still at the same time, there was a small voice pointing out it was not even half as bad as it had been for Imrahil past twelve months.

"Lothíriel..." he uttered her name, not knowing what else to say.

"If this is the way we can get his approval, then we need to consider it. We have to make peace with him, if we truly hope to be happy and form this alliance between Rohan and Dol Amroth", she said to him gently as she lifted his hands and planted kisses on his fingers. She continued, "We'll write letters, and you can visit us in Dol Amroth any time you want."

"What if something happens to you and the baby while I'm away?" Éomer asked, trying to come up with a way to convince her this was a bad idea – even if he wasn't sure it _was._

"Father has some of the best healers in the land. I'll want for nothing while I'm there, and I'm quite healthy now", she said to him.

"But... but what if some idiot hurts your feelings and I'm not there to rough him up for you?" he tried, though it sounded desperate even to his own ears.

"Love, I have three older brothers, and they all are famed in Dol Amroth for their skill with sword", Lothíriel replied, moving to his side again and linking their arms. He was frowning, but he did allow her to pull him after her, walking wherever she would lead.

For a while, they walked in quiet and came into the garden, and Éomer could not help the brooding thoughts that came rapidly to his mind Reasonably thinking, he knew she was right: they did need to make this concession to Imrahil. And it wasn't just because of politics, but also her peace of mind. While he knew he probably could persuade her to come with him, take her home this very day and ignore Imrahil's demand, he simply couldn't do that to her. She would feel she had lost her father again, and even if they later made amends, there would always be that tiny crack in the relationship which had once been whole and warm. There was no way he could cause such pain to the woman he loved.

And still... it might just kill him, having to wait until next year, and being separated not only from his wife but also his infant child. Unable to be there on those first, fragile months, to watch over his family... the mere idea made him sick! Then, he realised: _she_ would be all right. She was strong and resilient, just as he had so many times noticed, and it would sustain her through this, too. He was really the one more at risk of falling into melancholy!

"What do you think?" Lothíriel asked at last. Perhaps she had known she needed to give him a moment to consider this.

"I still don't like it", Éomer said reluctantly, knowing when he was defeated. "But... if you truly think it's necessary, then we'll do it."

She stopped by his side and wrapped arms around his neck.

"I will write to you every day if you want me to", she promised him gently. Oh, how lovely she was! How warm were her eyes! The idea of the coming year, separated from her, seemed dreadful, and he knew already the hours without her would be long as a lifetime.

"I may need a letter every hour", he answered, feeling rather disgruntled.

"Don't worry. We'll get through this. It's only one year, and you'll visit me often", she said, stroking the back of his neck.

"Well, I'm not taking responsibility for any half-coherent letters you may receive from me", he muttered and cradled her close to himself. To leave her would be the most difficult thing and he knew already it would take extraordinary effort to be able to do it. However, if it was the way to make sure she could still have her Gondorian family... he owed this much to them. And after everything his actions had forced her to endure, he had to do what would make her happy.

"Don't you remember? I take a great deal of delight in it when you are less than coherent", she said teasingly. He made a grumbling sound as an answer – the woman was far too good at distracting him. And he would miss her so much.

"You are certain you will be fine?" he asked, though he had already more or less given up.

"I am. And I promise I'll send for you immediately if anything should happen", she reassured him gently.

The young king knew he had to be content with that. _An entire year..._ well, if that was the price they would have to pay, and if this would secure them a life together, then they would do just that. And no matter what his own apprehension was, rationally he knew this could have gone in a much, much worse way.

So he nodded at last and sighed, and she seemed to know he had relented.

"Are we all right?" Lothíriel asked then, her tone just so soft she could have asked him for the world and he'd have found a way to give it to her.

"Aye. I suppose we are."

* * *

After their talk, they joined her father again and informed him they would agree to his condition. Father looked visibly relieved; he probably knew it had been entirely possible Éomer would not agree to wait. Lothíriel had feared it too, though that was not to say she didn't understand his impatience and frustration. She was anxious just as well, but she was also aware they needed to do this right by her father. After all her ordeals, she was just so tired of fighting.

Éomer had his own conditions, but they were things Father could easily agree with. Firstly, he would send a couple of his own Riders with her to Dol Amroth – not because he thought she was in some danger, but more as a gesture to let everyone know she was considered a member of the Royal House of the Riddermark. Secondly, he wanted her to meet him in Minas Tirith when he came to bring home his uncle, so that he could present her as his queen before Lord Aragorn's court. As a matter of fact, Lothíriel felt like Father was actually pleased by these demands, and she guessed it was because they might help to cut wings from at least some of the inevitable gossip – perhaps even suggest this had been planned all along.

Be it as may, at dinner that evening she could see her horselord was not pleased with this turn of events. While he was most polite towards her family, at times he'd fall silent next to her, and then she'd see a crease forming on his brow. So she'd reach for his hand and squeeze it gently in an attempt to comfort. She knew all too well how difficult this would be for him; Éomer was always carrying so much on his shoulders, especially now that he was king. She hated to have to add this to his burdens, but no matter what point of view she took, relenting to her father's request was the only way they could make amends – and to make sure they could have a truly peaceful future.

After dinner, they bid goodnight to the others and made for her chambers. It would be the last night they would have together before his return to Minas Tirith, as Éomer and Father would ride back to the White City next morning. She knew he'd have liked to stay longer, but they had to make haste if they wanted to reach the city in time before Lord Aragorn's coronation.

Her beloved was very quiet on their way to her rooms. He remained so when they were alone again, though she could feel his gaze on her as she stopped by the dressing table to let down her hair.

"Are you very upset?" she asked him and came to sit by his side on the bed. He wrapped one arm about her shoulders, pulling her to him. She took that place gladly.

"I'm just thinking of how very much I'm going to miss you", he said quietly, leaning his cheek against her head.

"I will miss you too. But this is not the end. This is just... in between", Lothíriel said and wrapped her own arms around his waist. He made a low, grumbling sound in his throat and held her tight, and she wished there had been some way to make this better for him. Her own life was not likely to be very complicated when she got back to Dol Amroth, while Éomer would be stuck with his new position, having to worry about his family, and dealing with the deaths of his uncle and cousin.

"Are you really going to be all right?" he asked her doubtfully.

"Of course I will be", she told him gently, hoping for the words that would reassure him for days to come. "You don't have to worry about me – not anymore. I know now you will be coming back to me again, and that my child will be loved and cherished by its father."

"It already is", Éomer said quietly and leaned closer to kiss her. Cupping her cheek in his hand, he murmured against her lips, "And me returning to you is a fact you can always count on."

He kissed her then, and she was starting to feel very warm and excited, when he abruptly pulled back. She saw him looking at her with an ardent look on his features, and then he spoke, "I almost forgot. There is something I wanted to return to you."

"What is it?" she asked curiously, and a strange smile visited his face. Her king left her side and made for where his gear was piled, and she could see him digging through the pouch he always carried on his sword-belt. She didn't see what it was he searched for there, and her curiosity grew.

Then Éomer straightened again and returned to her side. He reached his hand towards her, and she saw it was in a fist. When he opened it and she recognised the object on the palm of his hand, a gasp escaped her lips.

There lay the golden necklace of his mother, which she had carried for many months, and left to Brithwen so that the Shieldmaiden could use it to fool him. In its absence, her neck had often felt empty and naked.

"I didn't know you still had that", she breathed in wonder.

"Brithwen gave it to me, like you two had agreed. I've kept it since then, as I did not have a chance to put it anywhere safe. When we rode for Gondor, I didn't even remember I still had it with me. But now I think this should return to its rightful place", he said, lifting his hands to fasten it again around her neck. Before he did, he asked, "Will you keep this for me, love?"

Lothíriel smiled.

"I will keep it for our daughter."

That last night went by all too fast. There was desperation to it, too, as they both knew it would be months again before they saw each other once more. At least, this time they could comfort one another with promises of frequent letters and the knowledge no more hurt or misunderstandings remained between them. He was leaving only so that he could come back to her.

In the morning came that unwanted moment at last. Both of them had been quiet as they had dressed and joined others for breakfast, though her hand was never far from his.

It had been agreed Father would travel with Éomer's company back to Minas Tirith to participate in the coronation ceremonies of Lord Aragorn. Meanwhile, Lothíriel would take Father's ship to Dol Amroth, and Amrothos and Aunt Ivriniel would accompany her there. Her brother didn't seem happy to miss all the banquets and feasts that were sure to take place in the capital, but a stern look from Father had silenced his complaints. It seemed that the attack of Bartas and his corsairs had rather startled their sire, and he wasn't going to let anything like it happen again no matter how unlikely it was. Be it as may, she was as glad as the situation allowed. It would have been a lie to say she hadn't been startled, too.

When the preparations for the departure were done, there was nothing more left than to say goodbye. Even as she kept trying to tell herself this was not forever, that it wasn't going to be the same as the past couple months, Lothíriel could not help the aching sensation in her chest. There was still so much she wanted to tell him, and how would he manage when she wasn't there to make sure he took breaks from his duties, and would he remember to eat properly?

Outside in the courtyard of the villa, the King's Riders were ready for departure. They would have to travel quickly in order to make it to Minas Tirith in time, and no doubt it would be a challenge to Father to try and keep up with them. But Lothíriel knew what Rohirric horses were capable of. It was thanks to their speed and endurance that she was free and safe.

Then her beloved turned to her again, reaching his arms around her. She hugged him tight as well and lay her head on his armoured shoulder, wishing she might have felt linen and skin instead of metal and leather. He held her close, his cheek against her hair, and neither of them spoke for a while. And at any rate, she wasn't certain she could have said anything without her voice breaking.

But the road was long and he needed to be on his way if he meant to make it in time, and so eventually Éomer pulled back. His eyes held that same pain of parting that was tearing at her insides, while his face was carefully controlled.

"If you need anything, just send the word", he said softly.

"Of course. Stay safe and don't worry about me too much. Write to me soon", she answered, resting her hands on the sides of his neck. How she would miss him after today!

"I will when I reach Mundburg", he promised and leaned down to kiss her, long and slow, though they both knew he should be on his way already.

And then he let go of her, and she knew the next time she would be holding him was months from now. She swallowed hard and tried to smile. Éomer did as well, as though he too was unwilling to leave her with any other sight than this one – this, and the promise he wouldn't be riding away without looking back.

"Be well, love. I will see you soon."

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Here's an update! Hope you enjoyed it. :)

So, at last we have Imrahil's side of things. It was indeed fear of loss that fuelled his reaction back in the Chapter 25. Like he tells Lothíriel, he felt like he was losing her again, and that their attempts to keep her safe had been for nothing in the end, as she was going to leave her home in Dol Amroth anyway. It may seem like he was being unreasonable, but on the other hand, her returning pregnant was a pretty big shock for him. I hope it makes as much sense to you as it does to me!

Things are good now between our lovers and Imrahil, but it didn't seem to me like he was just going to let her go immediately. After everything that happened, he does need to tell her goodbye properly. Of course, it's not going to be easy for Éomer and Lothíriel, but on the other hand, our favourite horselord is very well aware he needs to do the thing that will give her a peace of mind.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **EStrunk -** I'm glad to hear it was so much to your liking! I rather felt that after all the angst our lovers have gone through, they deserved to be reunited like that and have a chance to talk through everything.

 **eschscholzia -** Thank you! :)

Yes, I imagine she had the highest motivation to get away from Bartas. And having grown up by the seaside, I think she would know a trick or two about boats.

 **meldisil -** Glad to hear that! :) Reunion was nice to write indeed!

 **Anon -** They have gone through enough heartbreak as it is, so it was high time to bring them back together. I'm happy to hear you liked it!

 **Rachetg -** Thanks! I'm glad you prefer this version. I do too, and I think it's really the more exciting one after all. Somehow, the original version seemed kind of stiff to me, if you get what I mean. And you are right - their relationship does seem deeper than it was in the first draft.

 **AngusH -** Thank you! Happy to know you enjoyed the reunion so much, and that I was able to draw out the excitement like that. And I think the whole scene with the pirates would have been somehow lacking if Lothíriel had not been fighting back.

 **Guest -** Thank you!

 **Madam X -** You're very welcome! :)

 **Rinarwen -** Indeed they are! It felt good to reunite them after all the uncertainty and pain. :)

Also thanks for the compliment! I'm often really self-conscious about my action scenes, and I wonder if I've managed to create enough tension and if it reads well. So, to hear it was good, is a really comforting thing!

 **Wondereye -** I'd imagine if they celebrate, they do it among themselves. Of course they are happy to know Éomer and Lothíriel have a kid on the way, but them racing down to the villa and him spending every possible moment with her, we don't get to see his Riders' reactions.

 **Jo -** Happy to hear you liked it! And thanks for all your other comments to my stories as well! :)

 **sailor68 -** Thanks! I rather thought she would do that, and not just sit back and wait for Éomer to do all the work. Hope you liked the way their meeting with Imrahil turned out!


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

 _In Mundburg_

 _My love,_

 _We have arrived safely in the city, your father and myself. It was in the nick of the time as well – we got here the very night before Aragorn's coronation, and we only got a few hours of sleep before the great celebration. We met him again beyond the walls of the City, and entered it in his company, and the streets were overflowing with people. I wish you could have been here with us, to see all the joy and feasting that took place. It is hard to believe this is the same city I beheld at dawn as it was hammered by the Enemy's armies. For one, the night I first came here it seemed like a dwelling of ghosts, but now there is life here and people keep arriving every day, while the signs of war are being mended. Your cousin Faramir has not spared efforts to make it ready for the King's return._

 _At any rate, I must compliment your father. He was able to keep up with my company even with the haste we were making while on the road. Poor man looked exhausted once we reached the city, but he endured the coronation ceremonies as bravely as a certain Amrothian princess would. I see now where you get it, love._

 _Aragorn sends his regards, and he says he's looking forward to finally meeting you. He hopes you like his wedding gift, which should arrive around the same time as this letter. I have no idea of how he was able to arrange it in such a short time and he won't tell me either, but I have a feeling Faramir may have had a hand in it._

 _My dearest queen, I hope you are feeling well, and that you have arrived safely in Dol Amroth. I imagine it must be strange to be there again and see all those places you used to know. Hopefully, I can visit you there soon, though I cannot give any dates yet. I must talk with my council in Edoras first, and I don't think they will be eager to let me travel any time soon. But if you need anything and it's in my power, just let me know. Maybe you'd like to send a word to your friends in Aldburg? I do not believe they will know how to read, but I'd be glad to act as your messenger. It is rather frustrating to think of all the long leagues between Edoras and Dol Amroth, and the time it's going to take to deliver our letters. Aragorn says it's safe to use the Dimholt Road now and no phantoms linger there, but the way has been blocked for a very long time, and it will require clearing and examination before I'm willing to send my riders through that shadowy path. Even so, it should please you, my dear heart, that in years to come the road to Dol Amroth will be much easier and shorter than until now._

 _I met Brithwen here in Mundburg after the coronation. Her injury is healing and every day she reminds me more of the woman she was before our affair; I think it's safe to assume no hard feelings remain between us. She sends her regards to you and hopes you and the child are faring well. She was rather distressed to hear about what almost happened to you, and she made a multitude of apologies once more. She seems to think none of that would have happened without her and Athilda's actions. I cannot say whether she's right or not – even without that horrible day in Edoras, you would still have been pregnant, and your father might still have reacted the way he did upon hearing of it. I told Brithwen we couldn't have predicted any of this, and the most important thing is you and the baby are safe now._

 _It will be strange to go back to the Mark and settle down in Meduseld. I do not know how to feel about it; somehow it doesn't seem right. The Golden Hall was always my uncle's home, and I half expect his phantom will be there, waiting for me. I think it would be easier to reclaim it if you were coming with me. But it's not like there is choice: Meduseld is the Hall of the King, and I know I must make it a place of life instead of darkness it became in the last days before the war. It is going to take a lot of work, of course, and I cannot pretend I will be very useful in making it cosy and comfortable for you and the baby. I shall ask if Lady Scýne and the ladies of the royal household would like to help, and if you have any plans or ideas, they should be happy to carry it out.. Hopefully, by the time you and our child come to join me, our home will be beautiful as it was in happier days. I wish you to see Meduseld as it is supposed to be. Love, if only you could have known my uncle – not the way he was when you saw him, but as the kind, good man who took in two heartbroken orphans and raised them as his own. I think he would have liked you, Star-eyes, and I know he would have been the most loving grandfather in the world for our child._

 _I admit I had rather hoped to catch a breather once we reached Mundburg, as our journey to your family's villa was quite the adventure. However, my friend and Marshal Elfhelm has made it clear this is not going to be a holiday for myself or Éowyn – he fully expects us to take part in all the many social gatherings in the city. It feels like everyone has gone a bit mad here in Mundburg, though I suppose it's understandable. People are still drunk on our victory, overwhelmed with the idea of freedom and peace. But if I could choose, I would be with you. Our time together was so short, and there are still so many things I want to tell you. Somehow, I cannot put all that down in a letter. I already destroyed several pieces of parchment in my attempt to write a coherent letter, Star-eyes; seems like I was more right than I guessed when I talked about sending nonsensical messages to you. Please, bear with me! It's been only a week and I already miss you so much._

 _I was not surprised to receive some thinly veiled offers for marriage on my first days here. Apparently that was inevitable, what with my newly elevated position from Marshal to King. I have been glad to inform them I'm happily married, and I admit I have hard time keeping myself from gloating about my queen. Most people believe that I do have a wife whom I love dearly, but there is this pair of cousins who seem convinced I made up the whole thing just to be left alone. Love, once we meet again here in Mundburg, I think I will enjoy myself very much in showing you off to everyone! The whole world should know I have the loveliest, the sweetest wife in all the western realms. Now you must be shaking your head and thinking your husband is a besotted fool – well, that I can't deny._

 _We meet with Aragorn daily, and usually your father and your cousin Faramir join us as well. Once more I find myself grateful for all the conversations I had with you, Lothíriel, because I know now how to talk and present my people among the lords of Gondor. Uncle didn't exactly have time to prepare me for this position, but because of you, I have some idea of what to do and how to act. Even Éowyn is starting to agree it was not such a bad idea to keep you with me, though she does it grudgingly. We don't like to be in wrong, my sister and I._

 _I'm relieved to report she's well. Her injuries don't bother her anymore, and her mood is lifted. Béma, the change in her is astonishing indeed. When I last saw her before we departed for the Black Gate, she was so without hope and joy, but now they have been returned to her, and by no one less than your cousin Faramir. I imagine you will be receiving more reports from your family, but it appears my sister and your cousin have grown very close during the time we were away. I don't know yet what to make of it, but he seems to make her happy, and for that I am grateful. What is it with ourselves and you and your kin? Éowyn seems to be as smitten with Faramir as I am with you._

 _Do not worry about me, though my rantings may imply I'm falling apart in your absence. Just concentrate on yourself now, remember to rest enough, and be careful. And don't think about Athilda too much – she will get what is due to her once we reach Aldburg, and if she knows what is good for her, she'll come to Edoras and clear your name. I promise to you there will not be a single soul in the Mark who doesn't know the truth about what you did, and what kind of courage it took._

 _Write to me soon, Star-eyes, and remember that I will always love you. I live for the moment we meet again._

 _Yours always,_

 _Éomer_

* * *

 _Dol Amroth_

 _Dearest,_

 _I have arrived in Dol Amroth safe and sound, which I think should ease your worrying a little. We had fair weathers and good wind for the voyage. I must admit, though, that I kept fearing something would go wrong until the very moment my feet touched the solid ground in the havens. After all the mad turns my life has taken this past year, it's all too easy to expect the worst. Maybe I shouldn't write to you like this, because I know what a fuss you can be (don't worry, I love you anyway). But let's be reasonable here – I'm now in my father's palace, guarded by his Swan Knights and the pair of Riders you provided. Aunt has already arranged one of the best healers in the city to stay in the palace for the remainder of my pregnancy, and a midwife comes to check on me every other day. All is well, love._

 _The baby is fine, I think – at least, the midwife and the healer tell me everything is going as it should. I do not fit in any of my old clothes anymore and I feel clumsier and larger as the days pass. In fact, Amrothos would probably tell you are lucky not to have to witness my moodiness! At any rate, I do not think there's a reason to worry that our confrontation with Bartas harmed the child. I don't feel like anything is out of the ordinary. He has the strength and resilience of his father, after all. For all the pain I felt when I first discovered I'm with child, and thought you wouldn't come back to me, I now feel like this baby will bring much joy when it's born._

 _You asked if I liked Aragorn's wedding gift. I do indeed – it is very beautiful, and I wonder where him and Faramir were able to get it at such a short notice. I have never possessed such a beautiful cloak. The blue of it is my absolute favourite shade, and the fur of the silver fox used for the fur rim must have cost a fortune. It surely is garment fit for a queen, and it should be perfect for winters in the Riddermark. But to you alone I can admit this: no cloak can ever mean more to me than the one you offered when we first met on the plains of the Mark. I believe it's still around somewhere in Aldburg. Do you think you could ask for someone to look for it?_

 _I can't say it wasn't bizarre to come back to Dol Amroth after so many months. In a way, it felt like coming home from a very long journey, and finding that all the furniture is in wrong places; and you keep bumping into things because you don't expect them to be there. And yet things were the same as I remember them. My rooms are exactly as I left it, the servants still remember my face, and even my dear Summer hasn't forgotten about me. The best thing about this is being with my family again – Amrothos is here, along with Erchirion, Aredhel and Alphros. They knew not to make the same mistake as Father and Aunt Ivriniel, and I have been busy telling them everything about Rohan, and about you. Aredhel particularly looks forward to meeting you._

 _But like I said, it's not same as before. There are moments I forget to answer when people call my name, and I turn around to look for one of my friends in Aldburg. The sea keeps me awake at night and in the morning I wake up early thinking of the chores of the day, only to remember all of that is over now. I miss riding on the plains like we used to with you or my friends, the sounds of your tongue, and I keep waiting to see you, walking down the halls and coming to me with a smile on your face. How I long for the nights we spent in your rooms, alone and shut away from the world! I even miss the wind! It is strange, how real Daerien became in the end. Letting her go won't be easy, I think. Does that sound very odd to you?_

 _It's probably because of that I don't feel so at home anymore. Things are familiar, yes, but I do not regard them the same as I used to – they don't_ _ **feel**_ _the same, if that makes any sense to you. Yes, it is me who has changed, not Dol Amroth. Sometimes back in the Mark I used to wonder if I would even be fit for living here after my experiences in the north. There are moments I even have to remind myself how I'm supposed to talk and how to act. People here at Father's court notice it, too, and I see them looking at me as though they're wondering if I've gone mad. In a way, I feel like I'm still drifting, the way I was until you came for me at the villa. But do not worry: I can bear it now, because I know I will be seeing you again, and I'm not so afraid of what future will bring._

 _I see how it would feel strange for you to go to Edoras after everything that has happened. But I don't think you need to be worried about what's to come – I have seen the gifts of leadership you possess and know you are going to be a good king. I only wish I could be there to help you out when you take the seat of your forefathers and begin to restore the Riddermark. But we must not feel sad – we will be together once our time of waiting is up. Don't worry whether I will like it in Edoras, love; with you and our child with me, I will surely learn to love Meduseld and regard it my home._

 _To tell you the truth, I had prepared for much worse reactions than what I got in the end. Mostly, members of my father's court are polite towards me, and they call me Queen Lothíriel. I still haven't got used to it – I think I would have been entirely happy as Marshal's consort. If anyone has doubts about my tale, they don't say so to me at least. I imagine it has to do with those riders you sent to stay with me. You should be pleased to know they appear to be fulfilling their purpose very well. Naturally, Amrothos had to make a joke about it: he said you sent them to scowl at people when you couldn't come and do that yourself!_

 _There's another thing that has taken getting used to, having them follow me around. But they are amiable gentlemen while they are not scowling, and I enjoy talking in Rohirric with them. If they are disappointed they didn't get to see the celebrations in the capital, they're not telling me. But on the other hand, I have a feeling they are having perfectly good time here in Dol Amroth, because it's not like locals have ever seen Eorlingas before, just as they have much to explore in here. And certainly being blond, tall and bearded is an advantage when competing with Amrothian men for the attention of ladies!_

 _Husband, I must admit I laughed a bit to myself when I read about those two cousins giving you a chase. I can imagine it only too well! But to be honest, I cannot say I do not sympathise with them. If things had gone that way, and our first meeting would have been in Minas Tirith after the war, I might have gone to similar lengths just to get your attention. And I must let you know I intend to show you off just as much when we are together again. So, you see your wife is not any less a besotted fool than you are. In that regard, we suit each other well!_

 _I miss you so much, and I count the days until I see you again in Minas Tirith. It seems so far away, and even further is the day we come home to you in Edoras. Imagine, my love – by then, you will be a father! Somehow, our life together as it is going to be is still so hard to picture_ _, though I am eager for it. In any case, I'm sure_ _we can endure the time that remains. For I know then we will at last have a life together, and neither of us will have to pretend any longer. I have longed for that day, my dearest king, that I may stand_ _by your side not as some meek little serving maid, but as your lady and companion._

 _I will wait for your letter, love, and dream of the day we will see each other again._ _Come to me tonight, my King, and meet on the bank of that dear little stream in summertime. I shall wait for you there._

 _With love,_

 _Your own Star-eyes_

* * *

 _May 3019, Dol Amroth_

The halls of Father's palace were dim and quiet at this late hour. Shadows were somehow cool in this place, which Lothíriel had not remembered before now – not when she had grown so used to how darkness seemed in Éomer's Hall in Aldburg. There it was warm and soft, as though the wood it had been built of breathed life into the shadow. It was strange, she thought to herself as she shivered under her dressing gown, that she might grow so unfamiliar in her own home.

Her pace grew faster as though something was pursuing her from the dark, and her mind and heart were uneasy with the dream. Of course, she knew it wasn't real, but it very well _could be._

The small sob made its way out before she even knew it. She wrapped arms around herself, around her belly, as though it could keep them both safe. Her feet traced that path she had walked a thousand times in her sleep – although in dreams, it was always evening, and her heavy skirts whispered softly against her legs, and she was still innocent and unafraid of the future. Over a year ago, she had gone this way and learned her life as she knew it was going to change for good. And moments came she feared the year she would have to be separated from Éomer would change everything just as much.

The door of Father's study was slightly ajar and soft light poured outside. It wasn't unlike him to work late even if the land had peace now. She remembered he had been doing it ever since her mother had died, and though they had never talked about it, she guessed at first it had been because he couldn't stand the lonely watches of the night without his wife. But eventually it had become a habit he couldn't shake off, even if the wound of losing a loved one had mended somewhat. Perhaps he was reading letters from King Elessar and composing answers – the new king was still unaccustomed to ruling and depended on his chief vassal a great deal.

Lothíriel slipped in without knocking, but some noise must have alarmed her father, as he looked up and regarded her in surprise. Like she had expected, he was seated behind his desk and had candles burning around his late work.

"Daughter? Is something wrong?" he asked her in concern.

"I'm fine. I was just... I had a nightmare. I didn't want to be alone", she answered in a soft little voice. It didn't sound so stupid when it was her father she was telling this. And past year, she had grown so used to someone being next to her when she woke up from an evil dream that she didn't know anymore how to face the quiet dark of the night without a soothing voice to calm her.

He didn't speak – he merely got up, got around the desk and came to wrap his arms around her.

"It's all right, dear", he murmured gently as he rubbed one hand comfortingly against her back. "You don't have to be alone."

She breathed deeply and closed her eyes for a moment. Her father's gentle voice and the hand rubbing her back helped her to calm her mind. The strain in her muscles left her and she let out a heavy sigh.

"Do you want to talk about it, Lothíriel?" Father asked, having sensed that she was easier now.

"I dreamed... it was the baby. Something went wrong. There was so much blood... and I was crying for Éomer. But even in the dream I knew he's far away from me, and that we... the child and I would be long dead by the time he knew anything had happened", she whispered, shuddering at the thought. When she had woken up sweating and sobbing, she had expected him to be there by her side, and that was why she had needed to get out of the room. She had been so afraid that if she stayed there alone, the dream would become reality. How she had longed for his presence then, his dear beloved voice to comfort her and reassure her everything would be all right!

Father's arms tightened around her. She could feel him shuddering too and abruptly she wished she hadn't said anything. It was enough that one person was already having such horrible thoughts; others didn't have to share them with her.

"I will not let anything happen to you, Lothíriel. I promise no harm will come to you and the baby", he said firmly. She knew she had no reason to doubt his words, or that she wouldn't be cared for. But Éomer still remained hundreds of leagues away and there was nothing he could do in case something _did_ go wrong.

"I just miss him so much, Ada", she murmured in a weak voice. "And... and it's not easy to be separated from him when I can't help but think of all the things he won't get to see."

He said nothing for a while. What he thought then she didn't know, and neither did she have it in her to look up and see. Perhaps her words caused him pain, but on the other hand she couldn't lie to him either. Oh, Elbereth help her! It had been all too easy to accept his condition when she had not guessed what it would feel like, to be torn into two directions at once!

Eventually, Father spoke.

"Let me just grab a few of those letters, and then I'll take you back to your room. I'll sit with you until you have fallen asleep again", he suggested in a quiet voice, and though he tried, he could not hide the pain that echoed in it.

"All right", Lothíriel said, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Where had she left the one Éomer had given to her? Was it still somewhere in his chambers in Aldburg?

She hadn't just left pieces of clothing in that place. She had left pieces of her life there, too. And without him, she didn't know how to begin to put it back again.

* * *

 _May 3019, Aldburg_

After loss and war and separation from his pregnant wife, Éomer returned to the town of his birth at last.

It felt unreal to gaze at Aldburg from that last hill before the seat of his father's line, and remember the last time he had been here. So much had changed since then: his uncle had died, he had become king and a husband, and he had learned he would become a father.

Thoughts of his family were not entirely painless. Lothíriel was so far from him now, far away in south. And Béma help him, he would have to wait an entire year for her! He was only starting to discover what it truly meant, and he had no idea of how to get through the lonely winter and wait until summer.

"What is it, brother?" Éowyn asked, distracting him from the line of thought that was sure to have made him brood for the rest of the day. He was rather thankful for her intervention, though he wondered how much longer it would be helpful in keeping his mind from _her._

"Nothing. Don't worry", he said and urged Firefoot to move again. They had been on the road for many days now, as this was nothing like their race to Gondor. Not to mention, some of the wounded travelling with them would not have endured much haste. Those with the most serious injuries had stayed behind in Mundburg to recover, and Aragorn had been most generous in providing them with housing and upkeep. But Éomer knew all too well there were many among them whose bodies could not be fully healed – many who would never ride again, or sire another child, or work with their hands or see the faces of their families.

"You are thinking of her, aren't you?" Éowyn inquired, seeing straight through his pretences. But her tone was gentle and her eyes were compassionate. She would have to wait for her own future, too, and it comforted him a little at least he still had his sister. While Éowyn had been mostly apprehensive towards the matter of Lothíriel while her exile lasted, she seemed to have changed her mind now. She agreed the union between their two Houses would be good for the alliance between the Mark and Stoningland, and she also knew how happy Lothíriel made him.

"To deny that would be a lie", Éomer said stiffly at length, fixing his eyes on Aldburg. How odd it would be to arrive there, and not see his wife! He had grown so used to expecting to her waiting for him that it felt _wrong_ to know she would not be welcoming him home this time.

His sister lead her horse closer to his, and she placed her hand on his arm.

"I'm sorry it turned out this way, brother. But try to understand her father. He has been through many great shocks lately, and his daughter is very dear to him. It was never going to be an easy parting, especially not after what they went through with that damned pirate", she said softly to him. It was all well and true, and grudgingly Éomer had to admit he saw Imrahil's point of view, but that didn't make it any easier to accept.

"I just miss her so much, Éowyn. And I... I hate knowing there are so many things I'm not going to be able to participate in – that I can't be taking care of my wife and child like a proper husband should. I don't get to be there when the child moves for the first time. The journey to Dol Amroth is long and I may very well miss the birth. And the first smile? The first crawl? Even if we had nine more children in the future, it's never going to be the same as this very first time", he said, his voice coming out more melancholy than he had hoped.

"Oh, brother..." she sighed, squeezing his forearm. "I wish I knew what to tell you. It's so unfair you must give up all that for the sake of others. No one deserves happiness like you do."

He made a gruff sound at the back of his throat and gritted his teeth together. Without his noticing, a bitter taste had risen to his mouth, and regret washed over him so strongly that he wanted to shout and curse. But he knew there was no choice but to endure this, no matter the personal cost.

 _It's only a year. We will write to each other often. Then we can have our entire lives together,_ he repeated silently the lines he knew forwards and backwards now.

"Maybe Imrahil will relent, once he has had a chance to calm down and realise he's not losing his daughter the same way as before", Éowyn offered softly, and he wanted to believe her words. But he could not allow himself to do that – if he did, and it turned out a false hope, his disappointment would be twice as heavy to bear.

"Maybe", he merely said and dug his heels into Firefoot's sides, and the stallion sped to a gallop. The last stretch of the journey was before them and soon it would be over. The night he had left Aldburg seemed like a lifetime ago.

Their approach had been seen from afar, and by the time Éomer entered the town, streets were already lined with people. Many eager and dreading faces he saw there, mothers and wives and children waiting for their loved ones. Some would indeed have their men back once more, but others would be left grieving for those who would never return. From this point of view, he had little to complain about: after all, he knew his wife was safe and sound, and he would see her again. Indeed, it was better to concentrate all that was good.

As Elfhelm and captains of the éoreds from this part of the Mark had their orders to discharge the men, Éomer himself headed for the Hall. He didn't particularly look forward to the confrontation that waited for him there, but it needed to be resolved for good. And once she was made aware she was coming with him to the capital, Athilda would have to choose someone from among her staff to take over her duties. He had a feeling it would be a permanent arrangement, as he couldn't imagine her wanting to return here once all was said and done.

Riding through the town and making his way up towards his old Hall, Éomer could see nothing much had changed here. Life went on with its griefs and joys, though perhaps he sensed a kind of optimism in air that had been rare, if non-existent in the last days before the war. Another new thing was the way he was greeted on his way. Those he locked eyes with bowed their heads, and there were shouts in the air: "Welcome home, Éomer King!"

He lifted his hand as an answer, shooting an occasional smile here and there. He was glad to see such vitality about the townsfolk; if anything alike should be found in other parts of the realm as well, then there was hope of restoring this land.

At last, Marshal's Hall, his old home, stood before him. But his life would not be here anymore, and all he could see around him were ghosts – shades of a time that was now past. There Lothíriel had stood that one day when he had returned weary from a patrol, and she had reached her arms around him... he had called her 'his woman' then, and she had blushed crimson at his imprudence. Though that had not yet driven the point through his thick skull, he could remember the feeling of relief that had already existed in seeing her safe and sound, and holding her close. It was as he had expected, and he had no doubt every little thing about this place would remind him of her.

Éomer had scarcely had time to dismount when suddenly, a female voice called for him: "My lord! My lord!"

And there came the three serving maids Lothíriel had befriended during her time here. All of them looked anxiously at him, even the one called Saethryd – his wife had told him about the manner of their parting. Perhaps time and some persuasion from the other two girls had changed Saethryd's opinion.

"Calm down, girls. What is the matter?" he asked, though he had some inkling about their concern.

"My lord, did Dae- I mean, Lothíriel find you in Gondor? Did she tell you the truth?" Aengifu asked in agitation, looking like she was about to fling herself on him and shake him in order to get the answer out sooner.

"We did meet, and my misinformed impressions were corrected. You needn't worry for her sake", he answered with a slight smile.

"You married her, didn't you, my lord?" Derehild asked, sounding about as restless as her friend. It was bewildering, as he had never seen the solemn young woman reacting so strongly.

"Aye, she's your queen now", he confirmed. _And even if we are separated for the time being, I'm still the luckiest fool in all the western realms._

"Is she well, my lord?" Saethryd asked. For once, she was the one acting most quiet and collected.

"She was when I last saw her. The pregnancy is going along as it should be", Éomer said and tried to stifle the small voice at the back of his head, pointing out weeks had already gone by since he had last seen her, and who knew if all was still fine with her?

The three maids were unaware of this unpleasant thought, as they were busy hugging one another in relief and delight. It warmed his heart too, though it also made him wish Lothíriel could have been herself here to relate these news.

"Girls, I think we rather interrupted something", Derehild said abruptly, having calmed down enough to notice the company of people following this scene with varying expressions. Smiling faintly, Éomer too saw now that the three maids had been so eager for news of their friend that they had entirely ignored a party consisting of his steward and those of the town's nobility that had stayed behind when éoreds had been mustered. They had come here to welcome their new king, but instead he had been conversing with a trio of serving maids!

In Gondor, this would never have flown. But they were in the Riddermark, and suddenly Éomer felt like he had finally come home.

* * *

Éomer was so busy for the most of the afternoon that it was already evening when he finally was able to summon Athilda. He had not been looking forward to this confrontation, but he had to make sure no shadow of doubt would linger on Lothíriel's name.

He had even wondered if he would find Athilda here still, or if the chatelaine would have left the town before his arrival, fleeing from the retribution she had to know was coming. But she had remained here, managing the Hall in his absence, and waiting for the inevitable. The woman might have her faults, but cowardice wasn't among them.

Éomer had fortified himself with a supper and a bath – much awaited luxuries after the dull way-food and long days in the saddle – when he took seat and waited for his chatelaine to arrive. Idly his eyes wandered to the other chair, which was empty now. If he closed his eyes, it was all too easy to picture his beloved sitting there with a smile on her face, like she had on so many nights. Part of him missed those days and the simple pleasure of them, though he was also well aware what their toll had been on Lothíriel.

The soft sound of the door opening and closing ended his line of thought and he looked up to see Athilda's face. She stood half in shadow, and the play of light and dark almost made her look like a figure not out of this age. One could have easily imagined her some strange shade, foreboding ill tidings. Éomer had never really understood why this woman and his mother had been such close friends, but perhaps Théodwyn had been able to bring out a side that Athilda didn't show to most people. After all, Thengel's youngest daughter had been dearly loved by all who knew her.

"You wanted to talk with me, Sire?" Athilda asked, her voice colourless and dull. But her eyes glimmered in the half-light, and he knew she was everything but indifferent.

"Aye, I did", Éomer said, regarding the woman before him. There was no love lost between them, never had been; he knew she thought him too much like his father. But somehow, for Théodwyn's sake, she had come back here... and like Lothíriel had told him, there hadn't been anything worth staying for in the West-Mark. And before his princess had come here, he had known it wasn't easy to find anyone as capable to manage the Hall as Athilda was.

He frowned now and met her eyes firmly as he spoke, "You know why I summoned you, Athilda. You owe me an explanation. And it depends on your answer whether you will be leaving this room in shackles or not."

Her expression shifted slightly.

"I only did what I thought was right", she said stiffly.

"Right?" he repeated, glaring at her. He had to keep his temper in check, as getting angry would avail him nothing. "So, you thought it was right to go behind the back of your Marshal, and to make accusations against an innocent young woman although you had no proof of her doing anything wrong and knew she was under my protection. And you thought it right to deliver her, a clear asset against me, straight into the hands of Wormtongue."

He stood up now and took a step closer to the chatelaine.

"If Lothíriel was anything like you seem to believe her to be, she would have broken immediately before that snake, and then by your actions the daughter of Prince Imrahil might have been delivered to the wizard Saruman himself! Do you not realise what this would have meant?" he asked her in a hard, unforgiving voice.

Athilda looked away, muttering half-audibly, "I didn't know. If you had told me..."

"I was not aware I was answerable for my actions to the chatelaine of my hall. Her safety depended on my discretion, Athilda! And you, as the highest-ranking woman in this household, the one who keeps it together in my absence, ought to have trusted your Marshal! You know very well it's not my way to turn away anyone who asks for my help!" he barked back at her, and she flinched, though the reaction was so small it was nearly non-existent.

The woman said nothing. She stood in silence, her figure so stiff and motionless one could have thought she had abruptly turned into a statue.

"You brought peril to a guiltless woman and gave the enemy of this realm something that could have turned all our attempts against ourselves. For this, I cannot allow you to go unpunished", Éomer said, his voice calmer now. "However, for years of loyal service, I will grant you a choice."

"And what choice will that be, Sire?" Athilda asked quietly.

"Either you will be placed in the hands of Elfhelm my Marshal, who will treat your case according to our laws. You have offended both his king and queen, so do not expect him to be lenient. Or, you will come with me to Edoras, where you will renounce your accusations, and tell the truth about your actions. You will clear her name, Athilda", he stated staring straight at her, hoping he could will her to do the right thing.

She still remained silent, but there was something about the set of her jaw that made him doubt, and he thought maybe she was going to choose being treated as a law-breaker. But he had promised to Lothíriel he would take care of this, and he wasn't going to let his queen down. After all, hadn't he vowed to her he would never fail her again?

"Athilda", he spoke, his tone softer now; threats and anger would get him nowhere with this stubborn woman. He went on, "This is not just about you or me, or Lothíriel. What do you think will happen if you refuse my request? How do you believe it will impact the life of the baby she carries? I only ask you to remember who this child is, not to dwell on who is bearing him. It's Théodwyn's grandchild."

The change in her expression was so small, he would surely have missed it hadn't he be staring at her. It was a faint softening in her eyes and around her mouth, and for the briefest moment, Athilda almost seemed gentle. Hadn't he seen it with his own eyes, Éomer might have thought she was not capable of showing such emotion.

But she was, and her voice was softer than he had ever heard before when she answered at last.

"Very well, Sire. I shall come to Edoras with you."

* * *

 _Late June 3019, Dol Amroth_

"You are thinking of him, aren't you?"

Father's voice brought Lothíriel back from the long-winded line of thought she had been pursuing for the past ten minutes. She had been seated on the window board, fingering Éomer's latest letter in her hand, and like her sire had guessed, she had been thinking of her husband. She felt worried for him, because in the letter, he sounded so tired. It was easy to guess why, as he had made no secret of how much was on his plate right now. Her poor, dutiful beloved, all alone in the Hall of the King without another set of shoulders to share the burden... hopefully, his sister would keep an eye on him.

For that same reason, she hadn't written him about her nightmare. She didn't like keeping this from him, but on the other hand, she knew Éomer would not react well to it. He would fret over her and it would distract him from more important things that needed his attention at the moment. And this separation was already hard enough as it was for him to bear.

But while she worried, days went by slowly, no matter how much she appreciated being able to spend time with her family after her long exile. Like she had told Éomer in her letters, Dol Amroth simply didn't feel like home anymore.

"Well", Lothíriel said to her father with a faint smile, "it would be a lie to deny that."

Her sire stood quietly for a moment and he looked troubled. For days she had sensed an uneasy mood on him, and she guessed it had to do with the night she had appeared in his study. Though he had done as promised and stayed with her until she had been calm enough to fall asleep again, Lothíriel knew her words remained with him.

Father let out a sigh and picked up a chair, which he set next to her, so that he could sit close by. The young queen looked quizzically at him, wondering what was on his mind.

"Is everything all right?" she asked him with some concern. Had he heard bad news from the north? Maybe the threat on Rohan hadn't been as finished as they had thought...

"Of course. Nothing is wrong – you needn't worry about anything", Father said, rightly sensing her growing unease. Deciding he wouldn't lie to her, she settled down again.

He cleared his throat and looked at her again.

"Lothíriel, I... there is something I would like to talk about with you", he stated at length, and his tone implied he was not finding it easy to speak.

"What is it, Father?" she asked him, putting the letter aside and looking at him quizzically. Whatever was bothering him, it seemed to be serious. But either way, she was glad that things had gone back to normal between them. He was once more the gentle, loving father she had always known, and whatever choices she had made in the Mark, those didn't seem to have changed that. He was indulging even her more bizarre cravings, searching wide and far in the land for whatever food she desired. And though these days of rebuilding had him very busy, he was also spending as much of his time with her as he could. Altogether it was a relief, as she had been so scared that their relationship would never be the same again.

"Daughter, I have been thinking lately, and a notion has grown on me that maybe I didn't really understand what I was asking of you and Éomer when I made my condition", he started, making her tense up on her seat. Something eager and anxious set aflame in her breast and she looked keenly at him.

But Father didn't seem to notice her reaction, and he continued to speak.

"I haven't forgotten about the other night, daughter... how distressed you were when you stood there, arms wrapped around yourself as though to prevent yourself from falling apart... it hit me then, my dear child, what I was making you do! I am a father of four, so I have no excuses. I should know better. Yet here you are, forced to be without the one person you need most of all right now. I have seen the way you fall quiet and gaze away, as though your mind was somewhere far. And I understand now what I refused to admit before: your heart is not here anymore. It's with him in the north", Father said, taking her hand in his own and holding it tight in his own.

He sat silent for a moment before continuing, "Back at the villa, I said I had accepted the fact you loved Éomer, as he did you. But perhaps I did not really accept the depth of it... Lothíriel, I'm starting to think I did not comprehend at all what I was asking of you and him. And the fact you agreed only proves to me how far you are willing to go for one another – how much you are able to bend yourselves just for a chance of being together, even if it's at such a hefty price. I thought I was only requesting a little time for myself. However, perhaps it would be more fitting to say I'm _stealing_ your and his time."

"Father, why do you say that?" she asked him, her voice carefully controlled so that it would come out calm and collected.

"Lothíriel, I merely mean perhaps I was... _unreasonable_ when I wanted you to stay here for a whole year. Please understand it wasn't to cause harm or unhappiness. I was just so beside myself – the memories of the past year were so close to me, as were the events of Bartas' return. It was nothing more than the reaction of a father who has come too close to losing his child all too many times. And I only wanted to take my daughter home and pretend for a while she was still my little girl, innocent to the world. I thought I could never tell you goodbye properly, and so I wanted more than is my share."

He lifted his eyes then and looked straight at her; she sat quietly, scarcely daring to breathe.

"I remember what it was like to become a father for the first time. It is something I will never forget, though my first-born is now full grown with a child of his own. Daughter, by asking for a year, I'm essentially taking that experience from you and Éomer. And more than that, I'm taking the support of your husband and the father of your child right at the time you need it more than ever. Not to mention, the baby could be a prince and Éomer's heir, but Rohirrim hardly know you. Who is their queen, that she must hide away in some southern palace? And I see now I cannot demand my only daughter to give up the event of starting her own family, and securing her and her children's place in Rohan, for the sake of my own peace of mind."

"What are you saying, Father?" she asked him in a thin voice, knowing what she hoped and _aching_ it to be what he was about to tell her.

"Lothíriel... your brothers and I are going to travel to Rohan anyway, when Éomer comes to take Théoden back home. I think... if we arrange proper carriages for you, and make sure it will be very comfortable and warm, then maybe you could accompany us there? I believe your husband would very much appreciate your presence and support when he buries his uncle. And it seems to me his first child should be born in Rohan", he said uncertainly, and he held her hand tight.

Lothíriel let out a soft gasp and reached sharply for his hand.

"Are you serious, Father? Do you actually mean this?" she demanded to know; her heart raced in the joy of hope, and of the thought that she could be going back to her beloved sooner than they had thought! Oh, Éomer was going to be so happy!

"I do mean it, daughter", Father said, and she cried out in delight as she threw her arms around him, which gesture he returned, though not as violently. Softly he murmured into her hair, "I'm sorry for holding you back. It wasn't to cause you unhappiness."

"Father, I know that. And I know how hard it is to let go", she replied and hugged him tight. "You can stay with us in Edoras as long as you like. Our doors will be always open to family."

"I wonder, does Éomer want his troublesome father-in-law hovering about?" Father asked, and it would have been just like any joke in old times hadn't his voice been so thick with tears.

"He does, if he knows what is good for him", Lothíriel said and let out a small, overwhelmed laughter. "Don't worry. Meduseld has enough room for both your tempers."

At that, Father chuckled softly. When he pulled back, he was smiling, though his eyes glistened wetly.

"I see it now, Lothíriel – you are ready to live your own life, and I must let you go. I was wrong to try and stand in your way", he said gently.

"It's all right, Father. I don't think it's too late yet", she said; she could still travel and her absence from Rohan would be less than half a year. She could take her place next to Éomer and help him to become the kind of king his people needed. And her child would be born in the Mark.

Perhaps things would be all right after all.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** And here's an update! Hope you enjoyed it. :)

I had to revise this chapter a couple of times before I was moderately satisfied with it. I don't think it still is exactly what I wanted it to be, but I guess at this point I just need to get it out. I also decided to include those letter bits as well, because I wanted to have some sort of communication between our lovers - and to show a bit about what this situation is making them feel.

Many of my readers thought very unsympathetically of Imrahil after reading the last chapter. Some reviewers said he was unreasonable, selfish and even petty. While I understand feeling impatience for our lovers to reunite for good at last, I also think Imrahil doesn't deserve such a harsh judgement. To me it seemed that he wasn't going to just let Lothíriel go at once, what with how upset he is still at that point. In other words, he made the condition without having very much time to actually consider it. At the time of their meeting at the villa, his many recent shocks are still very fresh to him, as are the memories of the past year. He has spent so many months wondering about his daughter and if she's safe, or if he sent her to death. Upon her return, he immediately realises he's losing her again. Like he tells Lothíriel, at the time he felt betrayed and hurt, thinking his daughter had been stolen from him. The matter of her pregnancy is not easy for him to swallow. We know what his reaction to this all was: to send her as far as he could from Éomer, hoping that was the way he could still keep his little girl with him. However, as he learns upon his arrival, his own actions put her in danger again and nearly got her abducted. And she has even got married behind his back! All of this is a lot to take in and he overreacts, because he's afraid and doesn't feel like he's yet ready to say goodbye. So, to sum this up,I think Imrahil is not being overly selfish or cruel, and he certainly doesn't want his daughter to be unhappy. His decision is made under some considerable emotional duress.

However, once he has had a time to calm down and to think things through properly, he realises what he's actually asking for. The night she has her nightmare, he realises she's afraid too, and that she needs the father of her child more than ever. Imrahil sees at last she isn't his little girl anymore, but that her heart is elsewhere now. There is no going back to what used to be and he must accept that. Moreover, he understands that by wanting her to stay in Dol Amroth for so long, he's in fact taking away those experiences of becoming parents for the first time.

Of course, from Lothíriel and Éomer's point of view, Imrahil's condition might seem frustrating and unreasonable. But considering his circumstances, I think his reaction was no more and no less than a human one - flawed perhaps, but not ill-intended. Hopefully his conversation with Lothíriel in this chapter redeems him in your eyes!

Thanks for reading and reviewing! Your comments mean a lot to me. :)

* * *

 **sailor68 -** Yes, my muse has rather enjoyed torturing them in this one! But maybe things are finally looking more hopeful. :)

 **Guest -** It definitely is quite hard for them. But now it looks like he doesn't have to miss anything!

 **Guest -** In that particular situation, I'd say Imrahil wasn't going to just let his daughter go. He's still too much in shock, and his condition doesn't spring from being selfish. However, once he has actually had time to think it through, he sees what is the right thing to do.

 **EStrunk -** I'm afraid so! But maybe now has come the turn for the better. :)

 **Rachetg -** That's exactly why he reacts like that: he's afraid. He has quite a few issues to work through, what with the realisation she's moved on and she's leaving for good, and almost losing her again. So I think the condition he made was the only plausible reaction for him in that situation.

 **Anon -** He was forced to swallow a lot of very unexpected and unpleasant things in such a short while! But things are looking more hopeful now. :)

 **Wondereye -** In that scenario, the baby would have been some ten months maybe. But now that Imrahil has changed his mind, there won't be such a wait!

 **notyetanotheralias -** In his defence, he _did_ almost lose his daughter again, and he's being forced to accept a lot of very unexpected things. So there was no way he was just going to merrily bless their union and send them on their way. As for Lothíriel, I think she was too weary to fight at that point. Not to mention, she just wanted to make up with her father, because their confrontation back in Minas Tirith hurt her very deeply.

 **Jo -** Those are all quite valid concerns, and I imagine many of them also occurred to Imrahil when he was calm enough to think things through. Though of course that night when she has the nightmare probably also impacts his realisation that he really needs to let her go.

 **Hachicko33200 -** To be honest, I think saying Imrahil is having a tantrum is a really, really unjust. Sure, he's not thinking straight. But who in that situation would be? He's in between a rock and hard place, and his fear and pain of losing his daughter rule his decisions in that scene.

 **Guest -** Oh, he's quite capable of figuring it out by himself, once he has some time to consider what he is asking for! I hope this chapter shows that his motive was never selfish, and that he _is_ capable of relenting.

 **eschscholzia -** Thanks for stopping by to leave a comment, even if you are busy! :)

 **Willa** \- I would have appreciated you explaining what part you thought trite and weak and why, instead of just leaving a short and cryptic line that doesn't help me at all to figure out what I did wrong and how I could have improved it.

 **Guest -** Yes, I believe many of those things occur to Imrahil as well! Among the other things, he sees the importance of his grandchild in a larger scale of things. But all of this is so much to take in, it takes him a while to figure it all out!


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

 _July_ _3019, Minas Tirith_

"Do you see them yet, Amrothos?"

Gazing anxiously up at her brother, who was peering over the wall that surrounded their town-house, Lothíriel delivered the question for the fourth time. She had been pacing the courtyard in anxiety and waiting to hear the sounds of approaching horsemen. Her heart was restless and perhaps the baby somehow sensed that, judging by its movements inside her.

"Not yet, sister", answered her brother; he had mostly taken the task of a lookout because her pacing was getting on his nerves. But he didn't seem to understand why she felt like this, or just how impatient she was for the moment she would see Éomer again. Father and Elphir had gone up to the Citadel and they would meet her king there, but she had not accompanied them. This was a reunion she wanted to have in peace and privacy.

As she resumed to her pacing, she thought about past couple of months. Those had gone by as quickly as a dream, for she had been very busy preparing for the journey to Rohan. It wasn't much of a time to make ready everything she would need in order to take the position of the Queen, but with Aunt Ivriniel and Aredhel's help, it had been manageable. Rest of her things, which couldn't be taken along now, would be sent to Edoras after them. As for leaving Dol Amroth, it had been less difficult than she had imagined. Certainly it had nothing on the last time she had sailed from the city by the sea; now at least she knew she and Éomer would be visiting her birth home in the future, and she wasn't going to her new life blindly. And she was much too excited and anxious to really mourn the one she was leaving behind. Those ties had already been severed and she had paid the price in agony long before now.

Of course, not all were happy about the affair: Aunt Ivriniel had spoken against it, and Erchirion too had seemed like he didn't think she should go yet. And Father, though he had relented at last and had promised to let her go, often looked at her with a bittersweet smile on his face. But he stood behind his word and silenced the doubtful voices as firmly as ever.

She had not written to Éomer about it, though these tidings had been difficult to keep. However, the letter would not have reached him anyway before he left Edoras, and this was something she'd rather tell him in person. Not to mention, she had a feeling his mood would be melancholy, considering the purpose of this journey. He was coming to take his uncle home, and he would be thinking he wouldn't be able to bring his pregnant wife with him when her presence was most needed. She was hoping her news would cheer him up.

Having walked to the doorway of the house and back again, she cast a hopeful look at her brother. He answered before she could make the question once more: "No, I don't see them yet... wait! I think I can hear cheering!"

Her heart leaped. Cheering could mean only one thing! He was getting closer!

She clasped her hands anxiously and listened, and then she could detect the sound of distant voices... it was all she could do from dashing to the street to meet him right there! The noise grew louder as the King's Company rode through the streets of the city and made for the Citadel. But Lothíriel knew they would be making one stop before their destination.

"There they come!" Amrothos said and descended, wearing a grin on his face.

The guards of the house pushed open the gates, and there came the one Lothíriel had been waiting for. Her king was here, riding his war-horse with the fluid ease she knew so well. She thought he looked tired and bad-tempered, but a smile lit up his face when he saw her, and in swift movement he was on the ground and striding for her.

"Oh", escaped her mouth when she felt her child turn, vigorous and unexpected but not painful or unpleasant in a way that would have signalled something was wrong.

And then his arms were around her and she felt so happy she couldn't say whether she wanted to laugh or cry. For the longest time, all both of them could do was just hold one another, and then he was kissing her, reminding her of a man dying of thirst. Now he was here and she didn't have to think about being separated any longer; already she felt like halfway home.

"I was thinking you would never come", she uttered breathlessly when she felt a little calmer.

"Love, I wouldn't miss this for the world", Éomer simply stated, making her smile.

Remembering she needed to show him something, she took his hands in her own. Then she put them against her belly.

"I'm not the only one who's happy you're here. He started to roll around the moment I saw you. Can you feel how he moves?" she asked her husband, excited to see how he would react. She had already told him in her letters she could feel the child move now, and knew he had looked forward to this moment. From now on, he wouldn't have to miss a single thing.

The expression on his face just then could not be described. At least, she had no words for such wonder and joy as was on his features when he felt the movements of his child for the first time under his hands. He made a soft, strange sound that resembled a sob, and keeping his palms against her still, he reached to kiss her again. It was that moment it all felt real to her, the way it hadn't until now because of all the conditions laid on their path and being parted from one another for so many weeks: this was her family, soon they would be able to dwell in their own home, and have peace.

"I love you both so much", he managed to hoarsely whisper against her lips.

"I love you too", she answered, and her happy tidings were just on the tip of her tongue; she wanted to tell him so bad. But she decided this one joy was already enough to process, and he would be needed in the Citadel. There would be time to talk about everything later on.

They remained so still, him with his hands on her belly, and smiling at each other in such an incredulous fashion it must seem to any who might be watching them that they were not aware of anything else in the world.

"I trust you and the baby are well?" Éomer asked then, looking like he had entirely forgotten about his guard or the objective of riding to the Citadel. But hopefully King Elessar would understand – it had been months, after all.

"We are all right", she answered with a smile.

"The way he moves surely implies that", said her horselord and he looked dizzyingly happy. All signs of weariness and worry were now gone, washed away by this sweet, light moment. And Lothíriel knew she would have been sad if she had known _this_ would end soon; if Father had not relented and she would have had to return to Dol Amroth.

"Yes! And he won't stop kicking when I try to get some sleep", she said and made a face.

He leaned down and gave her stomach a firm, commanding look.

"Hello there. This is your father speaking. Could you perhaps consider not kicking your mother so much? It's preventing her from getting sleep, and we have put her through enough a it is", he said sternly.

"I don't think he's listening", Lothíriel said with a soft little laugh. It was good to see him on such a light mood.

"Hmm. Stubborn. We have that in common", he muttered and would have kissed her again, but the voice of Éothain distracted them from the bliss of their reunion.

"Sire? I think we're making Lord Aragorn wait", he quipped from the gateway; he and the rest of the King's Company were lined up on the street, waiting for their liege-lord to resume. Though Éothain had felt inclined to interrupt them, Lothíriel could see he was fighting a smile.

Éomer glanced back at him over his shoulder and looked at Lothíriel again.

"I must get going. But I'll get back as soon as possible", he promised and kissed her for one last time. She had the urge to grab him and plead him to stay, as there had hardly been a chance to savour this moment. However, she reminded herself there would be plenty of time later on.

Indeed, now that Father had given up his condition, they would have all the time in the world.

* * *

After a long afternoon and evening up at the Citadel, meeting friends and allies, Éomer headed back to the town-house of Prince Imrahil. He had been to see his uncle's body as well, to pay his respects to the dear old man. How strange was life without the one who had raised him like his own son! Éomer had been right to think Uncle's shade would follow him everywhere in Meduseld, and in many ways it had been a relief to get out of his new home. And yet, when he looked at the body and saw only a peaceful look on Uncle's face, it was difficult to disbelieve his kinsman had found the halls of their forefathers and sat among them as a mighty lord.

While Aragorn would probably have offered him rooms in the Tower of Ecthelion, he had no intention of spending the night anywhere else than the side of his dear wife. They had not yet had a chance to catch up, and knowing he would have to leave her again once his company headed home, he wanted nothing as much as to spend every available moment with Lothíriel. He didn't know yet when he would be able to visit her in Dol Amroth, but he hoped to make the trip at least once before the baby was born. His advisers would not like it, but he didn't know how else he could make it through the long months ahead.

Imrahil was most gracious about his coming to the town house, and Éomer supposed he could very well afford to be; after all, Lothíriel and him were keeping their end of the bargain despite the personal cost.

Once at their destination, the Prince bid him good night and instructed a servant to take him to Lothíriel's chamber, and Éomer tried not to appear impatient as he was lead through the hallways of the house.

He thought she might be sleeping already, but when he entered, he found her curled up on the sofa by the window with a book in her hands. At once, he felt sharply how much he had missed her, and breath caught in his throat: her long dark hair cascaded freely on her shoulders, there was a rosy glow on her cheeks, and the roundness of her body breathed vitality and _life._ How many days and nights he had waited for this! Now that they were together once more, past months of separation seemed like a dream, a haze that was cleared by this shining instance.

She looked up then and smiled, and altogether he felt weak with tenderness and adoration for this woman.

"There you are. I was already thinking I might have to come and snatch you away from your meetings", she said lightly as she got clumsily up on her feet. With a few strides, he reached her and pulled her close, and he never wanted to let go.

"I'm here now", Éomer said softly and gave her a soft, lingering kiss. She made a pleased little sound against his lips and wrapped arms about his neck; her fingers disappeared into his hair and he had to remind himself it wouldn't do to get excited. The pregnancy was probably too far along now and he wasn't certain he was capable of the amount of carefulness being intimate would have required.

She pulled back then and looked at him with a sparkle in her eyes that disrupted his previous line of thought.

"What is it, love?" he asked her. Lothíriel smiled in a most peculiar fashion and took his hand.

"Come sit with me. There's something I need to tell you", she simply said and pulled him after her. They took seat on the edge of the bed and she cradled his hand between her own, her gentle fingers smoothing their way across his hardened palms. Like a particularly dimwitted ass, all he could do was stare at her. Ah, Béma! If the coming months did not reduce him to a blathering fool, it would be a wonder.

"We had a talk, my father and I", she told him and looked up, smiling as she did. "I asked him not to tell you about it, because I wanted to do so myself. Éomer, he has changed his mind. Father has had some time to think things truth, and he came to the conclusion it was not right to ask for us to wait for an entire year. He told me he won't hold on to his condition."

Her smile widened and she looked incredulous, "So... if it's fine by you, I would like to accompany you to Edoras when you leave Minas Tirith."

He was dreaming, he was sure of it. How else would she be saying the thing he wanted the most? But he didn't snap awake – he was sitting next to his beloved wife, she was holding his hand, and she was smiling at him hopefully.

"Is this for real?" he felt obliged to ask in a trembling voice; he wanted to believe it so bad, that Imrahil truly had changed his mind. But he could not before it was absolutely certain.

"Yes, love. I'm coming home with you", she told him, squeezing his hand. "That is, if you want me to come."

Without another word, he grabbed his wife, lifted her in his lap and hugged her tight – well, as tightly as he dared, as he didn't want to harm her or the child. His heart was singing, tears blurred his eyes, and he felt so relieved it made him dizzy. She was coming with him! The wait was over and he could take his wife home!

So powerful was his joy that he couldn't help but leap on his feet, hoist his dear beloved queen and whirl her around and around. Lothíriel laughed and the sound was music to his ears, her happiness like a balm that healed the ache of long weary days.

 _She was coming home with him._ Such brilliant, wonderful thing seemed nearly impossible after all the obstacles they had faced on their way.

"Of course I want you to come", he uttered in a weak, hoarse voice when he put her down again. What an onslaught this was! Lothíriel would come to Edoras, they didn't need to spend another night apart, and he wouldn't have to miss anything as far as their child was concerned!

"I hope you don't mind hearing it like this. I just wanted to tell you in person", she said and pulled back so that she could regard him.

"Not at all. You were probably right not to tell me in a letter", he stated; it was all too easy to imagine how vexing his company would have been to everyone close to him, had this news reached him before he saw her.

Brushing his hands against her neck, her cheeks, he couldn't help but lean down and kiss her. For once, things had taken a smoother, gentler path and he felt nothing but joy. It was the strangest sensation after the months that had passed.

When the kiss ended, he remained close to her and murmured softly, "Though I'm afraid nothing will be ready for you and the baby in Meduseld. I didn't even dare to dream of having you there so soon."

His beloved smiled tenderly.

"I don't mind as long as you will be there", she simply stated, and he decided that was a good place to start.

* * *

The following night, they made their first formal appearance as the King and Queen of the Mark.

As the time of departure for the many guests came to a close, Aragorn and Arwen were organising a series of farewell feasts before the journey to Rohan. Consequently, it felt like the entire city was packed inside the hall of Merethrond. It reminded Éomer much of the celebrations that had followed the ending of the war.

Lothíriel looked a bit nervous when they were approaching the Hall of Feasts, and he could very well understand why she felt so. She had not participated many social events since her return and this would be her first test. The story of her exile, or at least some version of it, would now be widely known and tonight was to show whether it would make her a disgrace or a queen.

Éomer believed in the latter, especially when he saw her slipping on a tranquil expression minutes before the herald announced them. His wife was a lady of the highest order, and her grace did not falter on this moment. As they made their way through the crowd, she walked beside him and carried herself proudly, just as a true queen would. And somehow, it made him feel more comfortable with the mantle of the king, as though pulling on himself a garment that had never truly fit him until now.

Perhaps it only did because he wasn't carrying it alone anymore.

Aragorn and Arwen were graciousness itself as they received them and bid them welcome. The King of Reunited Kingdoms inquired warmly about the journey from Dol Amroth, and asked if she had liked his gift. As for Arwen, the Elven queen spared no smiles as she stated she would love to hear about Lothíriel's time in Rohan. If Imrahil's daughter was intimidated by this legendary couple, it didn't show at all. But he had not really expected that, either. While his wife had spent so many months pretending and hiding her true self, she had been a princess of a great line much longer than an exile. Éomer was aware he was probably looking thoroughly smug and exultant, but on the other hand, gloating about his wife was exactly what he had meant to do.

It seemed that the good favour of Aragorn and Arwen rather worked as he had hoped: their reception that night was courteous and mild, and whenever Lothíriel received any curious questions, they were not malevolent in nature. But Éomer sent a few messages of his own: he'd keep one arm around her, give her back an occasional rub, and every now and then he rested his hand on her belly. The moments he wasn't touching her were few and far in between.

She noticed, of course, and eventually gave him a wry little smile, "You are impossible."

"Well, I did promise to show you off, did I not?" he simply said, making her laugh softly under her breath. Her earlier tenseness was gone now and there was a happy look on her face, and he was glad. At least for tonight, their choices were accepted

And after so much toil and hardship, future spread before them full of promise.

* * *

Summer's day was fair on the day they left Minas Tirith. The entourage was perhaps the most extraordinary one this Age had seen: there were Rohirrim and Gondorians, Elves and Halfings and even one Wizard and a Dwarf. Voices spoke in many languages, some sang and others travelled in silence. For one time, and perhaps for the last, the Free Peoples of Middle-earth were gathered together.

It was surely quite the different setting when compared to the last time Lothíriel had travelled this way. Settled in her carriage and gazing out of the open window, she remembered a time year ago now, the beginning of her journey. So much had happened since then and the fashion of her return was entirely different. But she also recalled the faces of her brave knights as they rode northwards. How different her exile might have been if those good men had just survived! Their fate had dismayed her father, and he had raised a memorial stone for them in Dol Amroth, so that their courage and sacrifice would be remembered. As for herself, she had given instructions to bring fresh flowers to the stone every day. The Dark Lord was fallen and his orcs driven to hiding; perhaps her fallen guardians could now rest more peacefully.

She would much have preferred to spend the days in the saddle instead of the slow, clumsy carriage, but it was the safest and most comfortable option in her present condition. Upon Father's request, Faramir had been able to find it somewhere in the city and have it prepared for the journey north. It even had a window with shutters that could be opened when the weather was fair, and so at least she had some amusement in gazing out and talking with other travellers. Often one of her brothers rode next to the carriage, keeping her company. One day Amrothos, always the one with the gift for making fast friends, brought two of the Halflings, the pair named Meriadoc and Peregrin, to travel with them. With their stories about the Ring War and of their life back in the Shire, the long hours on the road went by quickly.

Meanwhile, Éomer rode up ahead with King Elessar, leading their entourage side by side with his ally. But when he was not preoccupied with his duties, he'd come galloping lightly and ride next to her carriage for a time.

The camp was made each evening near the Great West Road, and so many tents were built that it seemed like a small city had risen in a matter of hours. Lothíriel shared tent with her husband, and every night they had supper with family and friends; afterwards, Éomer would take her round in the camp and introduce her to his men and people he had met during and after the War. Many evenings, they would join one of the many little companies that sat by camp fires, talking and singing and telling stories. Then eventually her beloved would spy her trying to hide a yawn, and he would escort her back to their tent, fussing around her like it was his life's purpose. In any case nights were her favourite time, and they were very much worth the dull hours of travelling.

One practical problem had presented itself on the first night on the road: the cot in the royal tent was much too small for two people, an issue which had not occurred to her husband in the middle of the joy of her coming home with him. But Éomer had resolved it by acquiring a bedroll somewhere and setting it next to the cot; then he lifted her up and placed her in the bed, and announced he would be perfectly comfortable on the floor. When she had tried to refuse, he had firmly stated: "My wife is not sleeping on the ground."

She grumbled at that for a while, but then he distracted her with some kissing, and she couldn't disagree with him when he was being so persuasive. When she fell asleep that night, her mind was deeply peaceful, and the last thing on her mind was the wonder and contentment over having so much joy after their long struggles.

Then one evening when they had stopped again and the camp was being raised, Lothíriel heard a pair of Riders conversing, and one of them said they would be crossing Mering Stream tomorrow. The border between two realms was now close, and she thought about her first crossing of it over a year ago. Then she had stepped on the other bank as an exile, but now she was queen. And tomorrow would be the first day she spent on the soil of the Mark as the lady of that land.

This thought began to grow on her mind, and Lothíriel understood she couldn't simply enter the land in her carriage. What would Eorlingas wish to see their queen doing upon the moment of her return? How could she show them the love she had for the land and its king?

The solution was simple and made her smile; it should be precisely the sort of thing that pleased her new people. And she had a feeling Éomer would appreciate it as well once they got that far. However, she wanted it to be a surprise for him, so that people would see she was doing this of her own incentive, that it was her active decision as the Queen consort. It was for his sake just as much for their people.

But Lothíriel also knew she would require some aid if she meant to go through with this, and it was King Elessar Telcontar himself she needed to comply.

Fortunately, that night they had supper with Aragorn and Arwen, which gave Lothíriel the chance she needed. Luck was with her even as Father kept Éomer busy in a conversation, and so her husband was so distracted he didn't notice she was scheming something.

The opportunity presented itself when they had finished the meal, and Aragorn had risen from the table. He was talking to Legolas, his Elven friend, when Lothíriel joined them. The two looked at her curiously and she spoke under her breath: "My lord Aragorn, may I have a word?"

"Of course, my lady", he said with a smile and a bow. Legolas took his cue and slipped away, noiseless as a shadow.

"How can I be of help?" Aragorn inquired her as he offered a drink of lemon water, which she accepted with soft thanks. She glanced about to make sure her husband was nowhere near, and indeed, he was still talking with Father, oblivious to her conversation with the other king present.

"I hoped to ask you for a favour, my lord", she said quietly, leaning closer to him to maintain some privacy. "It's not just for myself, though – I think Éomer would like it very much, too."

"What do you have in mind?" asked the King of Reunited Kingdoms, his eyes glinting curiously.

In hushed tones, she explained him her idea. Aragorn listened in silence, and when she had finished, he looked at her with a smile.

"Yes, I think you are right to assume he'd like it. And Rohirrim should appreciate it too, if I know them at all", he stated warmly. Suddenly, he reached to rest his hand on her shoulder, and he spoke softly, "The circumstances that brought you and him together were rather unusual, but it seems to me now that there was much more luck in it than one might have guessed."

"To tell you the truth, that is what I think as well", Lothíriel said, smiling as well. "It took time to understand it – time and plenty of tears. But we are here now, and I couldn't be happier."

"I am glad for you both. And it is good all has been resolved between you and Éomer. I saw how deeply your misunderstandings distressed him when we were at Cormallen... it worried me then, but no more. My lady Lothíriel, I do believe Rohan can now look to future more hopefully than in a long time, having such king and queen as you and Éomer will be", Aragorn said warmly, and his words heartened her as well. Having his trust was no small thing to her, and she fully meant to live up to it. She would be a queen Éomer could be proud of, and in time, her name would not remind anyone of the events of her exile, but of the good she had helped to bring into their world.

When she and her husband had retired and they were getting ready for bed, he asked her: "You and Aragorn seemed to be getting along. What did you two talk about?"

"You, among the other things", she told him with a slight smile. "Mind helping me out?"

She offered him one foot so that he might pull off the boot – such small tasks could get so difficult these days. Often she felt about as graceful as a waddling duck. Luckily, her husband had no qualms about undressing her.

He did, and she continued to speak, "He thinks very highly of you, love."

"As I do of him. And he is tremendous support. Neither of us were truly prepared for being kings, but it's easier to figure out with each other's help", Éomer said thoughtfully and began to pull of the second boot. He looked up at her, "But what about me is so interesting to warrant a conversation?"

"My dearest king, I happen to find you incredibly interesting", she told him teasingly. Since they had met in Minas Tirith, his mood had been lighter than ever, and apparently his Riders called her the woman who had taken the most bad-tempered man in the Mark and made him the happiest. For some reason that amused them a great deal. It was also the final confirmation they had accepted her, perhaps even liked her.

"Hmm. I do think my lady is dodging the question", he muttered and lifted himself enough to kiss her.

"What can she do, when my lord is being so inquisitive?" she asked back and slipped her hand inside his shirt. Against his lips, she whispered, "It's a secret, you know."

"A secret? Do tell me more..." he remarked, but to her it seemed he had already half forgotten the earlier topic. If he was good at distracting her, she seemed to possess a similar skill when it came to him. And so, her plan for when they'd cross Mering Stream remained undiscovered for the time being.

The journey continued the following morning as usual: the camp was dismantled and packed up and the company returned to the Great West Road. Aragorn's herald kindly delivered her the estimate of when they would reach the river that marked the border of Rohan and Gondor, and he reaffirmed the King of the Reunited Kingdoms would gladly let her cross the river first. She had wondered if it was imprudent of her to ask for this favour, and perhaps it might have been if she this was just for herself. But she was thinking of Éomer too; he had deserved as much for patiently waiting for her and even agreeing to Father's original condition of a whole year.

As soon as the carriage started rolling forward, she and her maid began with their preparations; there would be just about enough time to get ready, if they were speedy. Slipping out of her clothes and into the dress she had picked for the occasion was not the easiest task in a moving vehicle, and when she wasn't as agile as usually. But had they done this back in the tent, Éomer would have known she was planning something.

The gown was a simple white one; more than the decoration of jewels, she was hoping to use the effect of the snowy brightness against the grass and the river and the sky. She wore no shoes, as she didn't want to ruin a pair for this, and anyway going barefeet seemed appropriate. With her instructions, the maid was able to create a vaguely Rohirric air about the braids in her hair. Oddly enough these preparations, however lacking in adornment, made her almost feel like a bride on her wedding day.

Around midday, Aragorn's herald arrived again as the carriage was slowing down from its already crawling pace. Lothíriel felt abruptly breathless as she thought of what was soon to follow.

"My lady, we are nearing the river. King Elessar has asked King Éomer to cross it first", said the herald and bowed at her. For the brief moments left, her beloved would think the request was only because Aragorn thought it was appropriate for the Rohirric King to enter the Riddermark before anyone else.

"Thank you", Lothíriel said and smoothed her hands across the gown, though she knew it was unwrinkled, and that she looked as good as the situation allowed. But this was an important moment for her – and she hoped it would be for her king, too.

With the herald's help, she stepped down on the ground. The rough surface of the road prickled at her feet, and so she moved to the side of it and to the grass. It whispered softly against her skin and the dew had not yet dried entirely in the long green blades. Somehow, it felt right.

The river was not far off and she started for it, swiftly so that Éomer would not ride back to find out why the rest of the entourage was not moving. She could feel curious eyes of other travellers on herself, but she kept her gaze fixed on the stream that marked where Gondor ended and Rohan began. Only once she moved her eyes from it, and that was when she greeted King Elessar and thanked him for this courtesy.

Then she turned again towards Mering Stream, and on the other bank she saw her husband and king. He sat in the saddle and stared at her, his eyes wide and wondering. If he had meant to cross back and find out what had stopped the entourage, that idea had apparently left his mind already. She locked her eyes with him and made her way to the riverbank, where she halted for a moment. Behind her was Gondor and the life of the Princess of Dol Amroth. Ahead spread the plains of Rohan and the realm of the Lady of the Mark.

Lothíriel smiled at her husband and took a deep breath. Then she lifted the hems of her skirt and stepped into the river.

The waters were cold but in her excitement she barely noticed it. She made way slowly and carefully, as the bed of the river was uneven, and she didn't want to ruin this gesture by falling. But she also wanted to give her husband a moment to react.

Now Éomer moved as well. He dismounted quickly and strode to the bank of the river. He descended, adjusting his pace to hers, and so it was that they met in the middle of the river – the point where the Riddermark and Gondor came together and merged. In the ever-running river where existed no boundaries but the clear swift waters and the voice of Ulmo whispering forever, and perhaps that was why she felt like there this union, between their countries and themselves, was truly hallowed.

Upon meeting her in the middle point of the stream, her beloved wrapped his arms about her and kissed her right there, and she was only vaguely aware of the voices of his Riders, who greeted their king and queen in joy. She had been right to assume they would appreciate this.

"You little schemer", Éomer whispered into her hair when the kiss had ended.

"Did I surprise you?" she asked him, feeling so happy it made her light-headed.

"Aye, you rather did. And I don't think I'm the only one for that matter", he told her and kissed her brow briefly. He regarded her with a wry little smile, "You should prepare yourself for a downpour of giddy compliments. Eorlingas will love this."

"Will you compliment me giddily?" she couldn't resist the temptation of asking him – it was beyond appropriate at the moment, considering they were making everybody wait, but she was feeling much too excited and joyful to care.

"Oh, you can count on that", Éomer said in a low voice that promised her trouble. His smile had her heart taking a strange little misstep, and he spoke again, "Shall we, then?"

"Yes", she answered, to which he responded by snaking one arm under her shoulders and another beneath her knees, and in a gesture just as stately as hers, he carried his bride to the other side of the river. So she came to enter the Riddermark for the first time as the Queen, and she felt that even though they had previously done many things very unconventionally, this one thing had been completely right.

* * *

When they stepped out of the river and to the bank on his side of it, Éomer was still not convinced this was truly happening. Carefully placing his wife on the grass, he was aware he was staring at her like the world's happiest idiot. But Lothíriel was smiling, there was a blush on her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled in excitement. Did the woman even know just how brilliant her idea had been? In the lacking of a proper royal wedding, her gesture was probably the second best thing. The word of it would soon spread: the new queen had entered the realm and she had done it in such a way that proved she understood her new people, had respect for them and their ways. Rohirrim would know she was a lady of rare spirit and high heart.

But as they stood there then, and he was still trying to find words to tell her what he felt, he knew she had not only done it to establish herself as the Lady of the Mark. It had been for him, too. The vision of her stepping into the river, dressed all in white... such sights did not seem to belong to this world – or, at least, not into his life. Yet that thought came from the part of him which had been forged before meeting her; she had brought beauty and light into his days and because of her, he looked to coming days more with hope than doubt. When they had met in the centre point of the river, a new verse in their tale truly began.

"Are you quite all right?" she asked him at last. The entourage had started to move again and the rest of the company was now starting to cross the river, but for all he knew they could have been the only two people in this place.

"I have absolutely no idea", he answered and gave her a kiss, and he'd have been entirely happy doing that for some time. But then Éothain appeared, grinning from ear to ear; he slapped his king on the back and bowed at the queen, asking her _"did you see his face"_ and sounding like no one enjoyed this more than he did. But Lothíriel just smiled and linked her arm with Éomer.

Others came with their well-wishes and congratulations as well. Aragorn and Arwen halted by them and they both looked very pleased. Soon after, Amrothos splashed over the river and leaped to hug his sister, and spoke quickly and disjointedly in Sindarin. Rest of her family was there too, and either Imrahil had got dust in his eyes or he was actually fighting tears. Upon Elphir's soft order, Amrothos made way to their father, who took his daughter in his arms and held her tightly.

But her brothers looked at Éomer, each of them wearing their own versions of what they probably thought of as warning.

"That girl truly loves you. Well, I hope you know what you got", Elphir spoke first.

"And if you ever treat her badly, we are going to find out. You being a king won't make a difference", Amrothos added, nodding so excitedly it was almost comical, which rather demeaned the weight of his threat.

"Just to be clear: I haven't forgiven you the fact we didn't get to rough you up for being so... so _impatient_ with her, even if you love her", Erchirion said, frowning slightly – his meaning was not lost to Éomer. But the eldest of the three princes elbowed him and looked straight at the young king again.

"In any case, we will always be grateful for keeping our sister safe and making sure that pirate can't harm her", he said and reached to hold Éomer's shoulder in a way any warrior might recognise.

"There is no need to worry. I know how fortunate I am. She will not suffer any more offences or transgressions from me as long as we live", he stated and looked at his dear wife again.

"What is this? Are you three trying to bully my husband? I warn you – we are on Rohirric soil now. I could get you arrested", she said lightly as she joined his side again.

"Love, after your gesture, my men will be contesting who gets to arrest these villains", he told her, much to her amusement.

"Hmm. Perhaps when Father isn't looking", she told him half-audibly, and while he and Éothain were chuckling, Amrothos was shaking his head and asking Elphir, "Do you think they ever listen to themselves?"

"Amrothos, if any one in this part of the world should listen to more what he is saying, it's you", Lothíriel put in sweetly, and her remark threatened to begin yet another round of bantering.

"Get moving, children. I think we are rather blocking the way and keeping everyone from moving", Imrahil brought the conversation to an end; only he had the dignity of calling his full grown offspring "children". The group dispersed, and others came to offer their best wishes to the King and Queen of the Mark.

And Éomer smiled to himself, feeling like his dear wife's gesture had given her family a lot to think about. Of course, they had already known that she loved him. But perhaps now they were beginning to understand just why that was.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** And I return with an update! This one took longer than I expected, but I've been pretty busy lately, and I had something of a writer's block until I finally figured out some structural issues about this chapter. In any case, I hope you enjoyed it!

So, our lovers are headed home now, and things seem to be turning out all right! I think after all their struggles, they do indeed deserve some happiness.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **Wtiger5 -** That is correct indeed! Initially he wasn't given much time to think things through, but a chance to calm down helps him to see what's the right thing to do. And like you pointed out, he didn't mean harm to his daughter or Éomer. Fear of loss just makes us act irrationally sometimes.

I hope you liked Éomer's reaction! Surprising him witless was Lothíriel's chosen way, as she didn't think she should tell him in a letter.

 **Anon -** I don't know if it was imprudent. It was just what he asked in that situation, for better or for worse. It's important to remember the circumstances and the fact this is a huge sacrifice for him. As for the political aspect, I'd imagine it has occurred to Imrahil in some way or other, but in that situation he's just being the father who is letting his daughter go, so I would say he didn't feel it was the right time to talk about politics.

Also I'm glad you liked the chapter and the letters! I'm not sure there will be such a thing from Éowyn's POV. Though I like her and agree she's an awesome character, I just can't get inside her head that much.

 **eschscholzia -** It would have been cruel to keep them separated for an entire year, wouldn't it? :) My readers surely seemed to think so!

 **vilaspa -** Glad to hear that! And thank you. :)

 **EStrunk -** He just needed some time to get over his shock! Also happy to hear you enjoyed those scenes. I rather feel like I was able to give a fitting conclusion to the whole Athilda thread.

 **sailor68 -** Yes, he very much is the "happiest idiot in the world" in this chapter! :D But on the other hand, he has spent so much time being miserable that he surely deserved this!

 **Jo -** Oh, please don't apologise! You weren't too forceful at all, and you made entirely valid points. I loved reading your thoughts, and long and passionate reviews always make me happy. :)

 **Madam X -** Together they are indeed! I'm glad you liked it.

 **Rinarwen -** Yes, things haven't been the easiest for them! I can't really say if it was a moment of foresight, because I don't want to spoil anything in the future, but at least it looks good for them! :)

And you are quite right - Éomer would not have spared effort to find her if she had run! But despite her flaws, Athilda isn't a coward.

 **Hachiko33200 -** I always try to answer all reviews - getting comments means a lot to me, so it's only right I see the effort of answering when someone has taken their time to tell me what they think! Though I sometimes wonder if the readers with accounts would rather prefer me responding privately? Oh well, I'm a creature of my habits!

Imrahil was just shocked and afraid, but he means well. As for Éowyn, I imagine she just wants to be her brother to be happy, and she should be well informed on everything that's happened. So at least there's not a valid reason why she should be cold towards Lothíriel.

 **Rachetg -** Glad you liked them! Well, what can he do, he's smitten with her! :D

The connection to Théodwyn was indeed probably the only way Éomer could get to her. And you are right - it was very hard for Imrahil to let his daughter go, but he also understands now that it's the only way he can do right by her.

 **Wondereye -** Yes, I imagine they will be very happy to hear this news!


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

They reached Aldburg one rainy evening after many long days of travelling. It was fitting in a way, Éomer supposed – the last time he and Lothíriel had been together in this place, it had been raining. But this was not the hard downpour of that night, but a gentle, soft drizzle of late summer. Nevertheless, he wondered if it was wrong to think this was a kind of mending to the pain they had both felt then and for so many weeks that had followed.

Wiping wet hair from his face, he glanced longingly at the warm, inviting lights of his former home, but he would have to care for his guests before being able to change into something warm and dry. Then again, it could just be some were less in the need of it than the others. Was it just his imagination or did it seem like the rain purposefully avoided hitting the Lady Galadriel? Éomer shook his head. The Hall had probably never been so packed as it would be tonight.

As he began to give orders and things started to happen, he had time to notice three eager faces, peeking outside from the cover of the Hall. He couldn't help but smile and wondered if he would even get to see Lothíriel for the rest of the night. She and her friends would have a lot of catching up to do.

When the carriage rolled into the courtyard, he made way to it and helped his wife outside. She looked moody and impatient, and who could blame her? It had to be trying, having no choice but to spend her days in the slowly moving vehicle while being pregnant. But they would soon reach Edoras and then they could get settled down at last. She had already told him she would not travel in another carriage ever again – in fact, she had also told him she was planning to set fire on the vehicle and burn it in the courtyard of Meduseld.

Her expression changed when she gazed around herself. Now she looked very serious and her eyes were wide; he could only imagine how strange she felt to be here again.

"It looks exactly the same. I feel like I never even left", she said softly, leaning closer to him. She looked up at him with a smile, "It's good to be back."

"Aye. But let's just hope things will be a little less insane from now on", he said and kissed her quickly. Then he gave her a gentle push, "Get inside, wife. You have no business standing about in the rain – and I think three someones are dying to greet you."

Lothíriel gave him a brilliant smile, and then she headed for the entrance of the Hall. For a moment, Éomer watched as she was welcomed by her friends, and he smiled at the abundance of excited squealing and hugging. When he saw Saethryd throwing her arms around Lothíriel, he was even more convinced this return had indeed been to fix many things.

The evening went by just as busily as he expected, and it was late when he was finally able to retire. Lothíriel had gone before him already, though she had been present for the supper in the hall. She had sat next to him and rarely touched her portion. Instead, she had just gazed around herself with a bittersweet expression and Éomer had known she was remembering. His mind went back too, to those early days of her exile, and the way his eyes had often searched her dark-haired head in the crowd... if someone had told him then he was looking at the woman he would marry, he would never have believed it.

He expected to find her in the bed when he arrived, and she had changed into a night shift indeed. But she was slowly pacing around the bedchamber and rubbing the small of her back as she hummed a quiet tune under her breath. Before noticing he had come, she halted and smiled to herself, and spoke loudly enough for him to hear: "Do you know where we are? You started here, sweetheart."

A peculiar sensation expanded in his chest, almost like an ache. He thought back to the journey that had brought them here, the nights they had spent talking in friendship, and then in each other's arms in the hopes of escaping the darkness of the world... how well he remembered those golden hours when she had first become his lover! And yet it had been such a desperate time, because each day war had been closer, and they had feared it would separate them for ever. But they were on their way home, and while Aldburg would always have a special place in his heart, it was now time to move forward.

Lothíriel lifted up her eyes then and noticed him. She blushed and there was that sweet, slightly confused look he rather loved.

"How long have you been standing there?" she asked him accusingly.

"Long enough", he answered with a smile and crossed the space between them. She snorted softly when he kissed her, but gave into it soon enough. In quiet contentment, they both relished the knowledge all was well.

When she was seated on the bed and he was undressing, he asked her: "So, I take it you were able to catch up with your friends?"

"Yes. It doesn't seem like too much has changed between us... they dropped the 'my ladies' soon enough, and then it felt just like before. And Saethryd isn't angry with me anymore. I suppose Derehild and Aengifu have had plenty of time to persuade her", Lothíriel said and smiled slightly. Combing her fingers through her hair, she continued, "They have agreed to come with me to Edoras and act as my maids. It will be good to have them around, I think."

"Good. It's a lot to take in, especially with the baby on the way", he said, pleased that his wife would have friendly faces around her in days to come.

Lothíriel nodded and looked content with this outcome as well. Then she spoke again, "I saw Brithwen, too. She seems well."

"Aye, she rather is. I think she's much happier these days", Éomer agreed and left his boots by the chair. Running a hand through his hair, he added, "I gather she made friends with one Deormund at Cormallen. He has started working in her alehouse... I wouldn't be surprised if he's going to take over the duties of a husband some time soon."

Her eyes widened and she sat up straighter.

"Really? Are you serious?" she asked in surprise.

"Absolutely. I've visited Aldburg a few times during the summer, and I've never seen one without the other", he said and smiled fondly. Though things had not always gone smoothly with Brithwen, he was glad she was doing well.

"Well, good for her", Lothíriel said and sat in thoughtful silence for a moment. Then she looked at him again, "I take it Athilda has left Aldburg."

"She has. She never returned here after travelling to Edoras with me and confessing what she had done. As far as I know, Athilda has gone to stay with her nephew's family in the West-Mark", said the young king. He remembered that day back in the capital and Athilda's cool, loud voice as she explained to a crowd of spectators the circumstances of Lothíriel's first coming to the Golden Hall. By nightfall, those events were common knowledge in Edoras, and Éothain had reported it seemed like no one disbelieved it. As a result, Éomer was confident this tale would eventually die, especially when Lothíriel had her chance to show her new people who she truly was. They would find themselves falling in love with her, just like he had. Not to mention, his Riders who had been with him at her family's villa had done their part in giving their own accounts of the night by the beach and their new queen's bravery against pirates.

But for now, he cast these things out of his mind and joined his wife in the bed. She rolled softly into his lap and settled there, sighing quietly in contentment. When she was comfortable, she asked him: "How soon do you think we'll reach Edoras?"

"In a couple of days, I'd say. One can't know for sure when travelling with this much baggage", he said, running his fingers over her arm.

"Hmm. It's beyond frustrating, knowing we could get there in half the time. I can hardly wait for when we reach Edoras", she muttered.

"Do you think you will miss Aldburg much?" he asked her, fighting off his weariness in order to prolong this moment.

"I suppose a part of me will. These walls have witnessed some of the happiest moments of my life", she said softly, sounding like she too was on the verge of sleep.

"Mine too", he muttered and held her a bit tighter. She hemmed under her breath and sighed, and as her breathing grew calm and even, he knew she had fallen asleep. For a while, he lay there, listening to the sounds of the Hall and the quiet puffing of his beloved wife. Night had come and peaceful quiet had descended on the place he had once called his home. For once, he did not feel on the edge for what was to come, and he was not expecting for some doom to fall. It was a strange sensation, but Éomer felt he could get used to it.

He settled back more comfortably and fitted his head on the pillow. Inside these walls had passed some of the sweetest hours of his adult life, and he perceived those would always stand in shining contrast to the dark days of war in his memory. But there had been so much doubt, too, and the slow, creeping pain of knowing she was not really his to keep while her exile lasted and her father had the power over her fate. And always it had been accompanied by the fear that her secret would be discovered and she would be thrown to the wolves by the likes of Gríma Wormtongue...

Yes, it was good to be moving on, build their life in Edoras on steadier ground, and let life usher in new things. The babe she carried would surely take care of that.

And so, imagining the coming days and what would be in store for them, he soon passed into the realm of dreams.

* * *

The reunion with her Rohirric friends was as joyful as Lothíriel had hoped. She had missed them gravely – their down to earth attitude, their sense of humour, and the warmth of their friendship. Even Saethryd welcomed her back, and there lay one more moment of relief after the ways her life had twisted and turned in the course of the war.

The three looked just as excited as she felt, and they kept shooting questions at her, and a multitude of hugs was exchanged in the middle of the rather one-sided interrogation. While Éomer had provided them with an overall explanation of what had passed in south, it hadn't quenched their curiosity in the slightest. Lothíriel herself was just too happy to speak much else, besides her answers, than to tell them how glad she was to see them again.

But once they had calmed down, and found a quiet corner in the Hall to share news, Lothíriel told her friends about the past few months. And once she had told her tale, she asked tidings of Aldburg. For her friends, life had gone much like before, though they had been busy planning their moving to Edoras. Derehild and Wulfgar were getting married as soon as they were settled down in the capital, but Saethryd and Folcred had agreed to part ways as friends – the young queen did not think her friend would go lonely for long once they were in Edoras.

Then she asked them if the truth about her had caused much wonder among the townsfolk.

"It was the talk of the town for a while", Aengifu said, arranging her hair into a braid and loosening it again, "Few believed at first that a Gondorian princess had been hiding in our midst for so long. But proof was overwhelming, and we couldn't exactly ignore your brother's announcement. We did our best to let people know what really had happened and why you were here in the first place."

"I suppose there were some rather wild tales going about, but then our éoreds returned from Stoningland, and they brought such a multitude of strange tidings from the war that your and Lord Éomer's affair was soon old news. In the light of all that had happened in the south, a princess hiding in our Marshal's household seemed like a perfectly ordinary thing! Not a few seem to think it's very romantic", Saethryd added, smiling playfully as she reached to gently slap her friend's shoulder.

"And if you ask me, should you go now and ask any person's opinion, they would probably shrug and simply say it's good the land has a queen again. With a strong king steering us, and him having a wife so brave, there is a promise of peace and stability. After these past two years, that is more valuable than jewels and gold", Derehild said for her part.

Lothíriel thought about all her friends had told her. Something warm, even trustful, was spreading slowly in her chest. What a wonderful thing it was to look at future with faith and hope! Perhaps, for once, things were going to be all right. So she smiled at her friends and thought of how much she had come to love them – and how relieved she was that they still trusted her.

Another question rose then to her mind, and she inquired: "What about Athilda? How have things been after she left?"

"It was strange at first. She seemed so much like a part of this place, even if her deed had forfeited it", Aengifu said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

"Of course it was obvious she couldn't stay after what she did. Lord Éomer would never have allowed it, knowing what Athilda almost cost him", said Derehild and shook her head. She continued, "Heagyth has taken over for the time being. I guess she is going to keep the position at least until the new Marshal takes up the seat. I wouldn't be surprised if she'll continue in the future – she's very capable, and her disposition is much kinder than her predecessor's."

"They say Athilda has gone to Westfold. But after that, no tidings of her has come to us. If you ask me, she's trying to keep a low profile – everybody and their mothers know that the King is displeased with her. And now that he is new to the throne and he is expected to rearrange many things, people are not keen on getting to his bad side", said Saethryd, nodding emphatically.

"And what of you, my friends? Are you excited about moving to Edoras?" Lothíriel asked them.

"Absolutely! I can't wait to get there!" said the red-haired woman with a grin. No doubt she'd wreak havoc among the young men of the capital.

"I am glad as well. It has made my family very proud, that I will be serving with the Queen herself", Aengifu said, not as exultant as Saethryd but her eyes were warm and light.

"Who would take care of Wulfgar if I did not follow him to Edoras?" Derehild said, smiling in that faint way of hers that one might dismiss if one did not know her. "We are both looking forward to it. I think it's a good place to start over."

"Yes, I rather think it is", Lothíriel agreed and looked at her friends. Her heart swelled with warmth and love as she looked at the faces of these three, and with a tearful little smile, she continued, "I will always be grateful for what you did for me – and for accepting me even after you found out the truth. I promise I will never keep such secrets from you again."

Her friends, who had kept her company and cared for her, smiled at her. But it was Aengifu who put their thoughts into words.

"You are our friend, now and always."

* * *

Éomer was up and about early next morning, though his wife sleepily inquired whether he really needed to get out of the bed so soon. But waking up close to dawn had been a part of his routine for so long, it was not easy to break. He was eager to get to going and cover as much distance today as was possible. However, he was well aware it would be at least couple of hours before the entourage would be moving.

While the guests were slowly waking up and preparations for the day's travel were started, Éomer himself moved swiftly through the Hall, spoke with his old steward, arranged this or that thing, and made a quick visit to the stables. Now that his own life would be in Edoras, he was thinking of appointing Elfhelm's seat in Aldburg. It was a place he wouldn't trust in just anyone's hands.

But after he had talked with the master of stables and was heading back inside again, there was a voice calling for him from behind.

"Éomer King, may I have a word?"

He turned, surprised to hear this particular voice asking for his attention. Then again perhaps he should have expected it; Aldburg was Brithwen's home, and in many ways this was an ending of one era.

She stood some yards from him, smiling hopefully as she waited for him to answer. She looked to be well, much to his approval. Life had turned out all right for the Shieldmaiden.

"Of course. And do drop the title. It's not necessary between old friends", he told her and she let out a soft, throaty chuckle. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard her laugh.

"Well, everyone is talking about you like the second coming of Eorl these days, so I suppose some of it has rubbed off on me", she said humorously and stepped closer. He was glad to see how her eyes glinted and the smile that played on her face; there was happiness about her he hadn't seen before. Then, in a slightly more serious tone, she spoke again, "I figured out the morning would probably be the only time today I might have a chance to catch you. Are you going to ride out soon?"

"I would like to leave in less than an hour, but trying to move so many people hardly allows such efficiency. It will be a relief to finally reach Edoras", he said and shook his head. He was sick and tired of travelling. And to think he might have had to make several long trips to Dol Amroth just this autumn and winter! He would have to thank Imrahil again, simply for sparing him from a nervous breakdown.

"Oh, that I can imagine. Our journey from Mundburg back in May would have been torture if not for the company, and we at least were travelling much faster", Brithwen said and shook her head. Éomer hid his smile, knowing it was very specific company she was referring to. He only hoped everything would turn out all right between the Shieldmaiden and her Rider.

"How are your siblings, by the way?" he thought to ask, as he hoped to make sure all was indeed well in her life, though her expressions surely implied so.

"They are wonderful, growing up so fast I can hardly keep up. And they love Deormund very dearly. No wonder, as he's so good with them", Brithwen answered, smiling as she spoke. Eomer smiled too: she must really like this Deormund, to have already introduced him to her family. She had never given that honour to him, which probably had been for the best. At the time, he had known not to ask for it either, as he had always known he was less invested emotionally in her than she was in him. He was glad to see that relationship had now taken a much healthier form.

"That is good news, my friend", he said and reached to rest his hand on Brithwen's shoulder. She smiled as an answer, until suddenly her expression changed and became uncertain.

"So there are no hard feelings? You are not angry with me anymore?" she asked him warily.

"No, I'm not. To tell you the truth, I'm too happy right now to hold on to grudges", he admitted, making her laugh softly.

"Well, that's a relief", said the Shieldmaiden and nodded in satisfaction. She added in a softer voice, "I heard what your lady did when you crossed Mering Stream. I never believed anyone from the south could learn to understand us that well, but now I know we have a wonderful queen. I think I finally see why you are so smitten with her."

"Hmph. Everybody keeps telling me that. I don't know what's so amusing about the affair", Éomer muttered and rolled his eyes dramatically enough to have her chuckling again. He continued in a more solemn tone, "But in any case, it's good we don't have to hide anything."

"I'm glad for you both", Brithwen said warmly. Then she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight, and he could feel it was now only a gesture between friends, and if there had been anger and bitterness, those had been healed at last.

"I wish you well, my friend. Go and be happy", Brithwen murmured softly before she pulled back again.

"You too, Brithwen", Éomer answered, and with that, they bid each other farewell. With a wave of her hand, she turned away from him and strode for the gates of the courtyard, heading for her own home. Her siblings would be waking up soon and she would be busy preparing for the new day – feeding her family, tending to the tavern, and receiving the folk of the town as they came and went. The Shieldmaiden had a life before her she could be happy to call her own.

No doubt he would meet her at times when visiting Aldburg, and years would see a fuller friendship growing between them. But as of now, he felt like they had left things in a sound place, and regrets could be forgotten for good.

* * *

Wind cleared the skies on the day they left Aldburg, and the rest of the journey was made in beautiful weather of late summer. As they got closer to the capital, the feeling of excitement in the entourage grew also. Many in this company would still have a long way to go after Edoras, but Éomer son of Éomund was coming to the place he would make his home. ¨

It had not felt like home during the few months between his return from the Ring War and the day they had left to bring his uncle back. He guessed it was because he had been so busy all the time, and his heart had been elsewhere. No doubt he would find his days full after the guests had gone their ways, but at least he knew his thoughts would no longer be far away and looking for some distant date when all the waiting came to an end. And at last, after his life had taken such strange turns in the course of a year and a half, things were finally starting to make some sense.

The day was fair in the glory of bright sunlight as they began to close in on Edoras. He was eager to get there and show Lothíriel around – let her see Meduseld as it was supposed to be, not as the place of fear it had been when she had first come here. Of course, preparations for her arrival would not be finished yet, though he had sent a messenger from Mundburg as soon as he had learned she was coming home with him. Scýne and her ladies would have been busy in cleaning the royal chambers and the nursery, but the finishing touch would be for Lothíriel herself to make. Already he saw it in his mind's eye and the image was like a brilliant flame that lit his way.

Around him, the good cheer of his men had been rising steadily, and now they began a song of homecoming; on long, weary ways, singing was sometimes the chief amusement if vigilance was not needed. But songs were also a way of expressing themselves, like when they were glad to return to their homes, or when they roused their battle spirits. Songs of the Pelennor fields would surely echo in all their minds for a long time.

Suddenly, a bright soprano joined the song, and glancing behind himself, Éomer saw the face of his wife as she leaned out of the window of her carriage, to admire the landscape and sing with the Riders of the King's Guard. In delighted surprise he smiled: he hadn't been aware she knew this song. But perhaps her maids had taught her some time – singing was just as natural for the every day labours of the common folk as it was for the Riders. Apparently, it was so for their queen as well.

His men looked just as astonished as he felt himself, but he saw they were glad, too, and their hearts were high. This was a good day for them all.

Music halted only when they passed by the tombs of the Kings, and Éomer bowed his head to show respect to his predecessors, those kings of old whose mantle now was his to bear. But the gates of the city were open, and when he entered his capital, voices rose again around him. The streets of Edoras were more packed than normally: such companies as this one were not likely to appear again in the world of the living. For now the crowd cheered and celebrated, for their king and queen were home and memory of war and the loss of Théoden were eclipsed for this bright afternoon.

Her carriage was brought to a halt a short way from Meduseld. It had been Lothíriel's idea, as she wanted to walk the rest of the way to the Golden Hall. Usually, they would have ridden there, but he had insisted on carefulness for the sake of the baby.

Éomer himself dismounted and helped his lady from the carriage. She managed it with more grace than her recent grumblings over being clumsy would have implied, and he noted she was beautiful in her green gown and wearing late summer flowers in her hair. She cast him a beaming smile as she placed her hand on his arm, and then they began the last stretch for the Hall of the King. Firefoot followed them close by and his Riders secured their way; before them, the royal banner was carried, and the White Horse leaped in the wisps of the wind.

As they came nearer to the Hall of his forefathers, the strangest sensation grew in the chest of the young Lord of the Mark. Though the grief for his uncle and cousin was still fresh, and it would be a while before pain would turn in to a fond smile when he thought of them, in this moment there was something absolutely right. His path was open and clear before his feet, and he knew at last where he was going.

Beside him, Lothíriel walked, and he thought she had never looked more radiant as she did now. Her eyes were bright and she held herself as proudly as any queen would. And he was glad for her: at last she could walk in this land without disguises, and people would see her worth like he had seen it for so many months. She was ready for this, perhaps more than he had ever been. This woman had been made to endure, to shine, and with her by his side he felt he could lift mountains.

They reached the courtyard and the path to the steps of the Hall was lined with lords of the land and folk of the household. Youngest among them paved their way with flowers, and cheers and well-wishes welcomed them home. The young king gave a pat to the neck of his stallion, and a squire stepped to take a hold of Firefoot's reins, allowing the lord and his wife to carry on from here alone.

The stone steps of the Hall were before them and above, the twin doors were spread open. Doorwards stood in bright mail, holding their shields and spears, lining the way up to the House of the King, and they bowed their heads to the Lord and Lady of the Mark. When Éomer glanced at the woman walking by his side, her eyes were wide and her smile had made way for a serious look. And by that look, he knew the meaning of this moment for her. Today, she was entering Meduseld for the first time as the Queen of Rohan.

She saw him looking at her and once more her features grew easier. He gave her a smile, hoping to convey how proud he was of her, and she moved her hand from his arm to his fingers.

Side by side, they began to climb, heading for the twin doors of the place they would call their home. Meduseld stood inviting in the golden sunlight, proud as those had been who had first built this Hall. And now it was his and Lothíriel's turn to make it their own, to dwell in these halls and bring up their children, and share all the days of their lives. This thought, so enormous and wonderful and _good_ , nearly had him laughing out loud.

They reached the terrace and they stood there for a moment, their backs turned towards the crowds and their guests, and their eyes looking into the Hall of the King. There sunlight played as it streamed from the great windows above the rafters, banners swayed gently with the wind that breathed in through the doors, and the air smelled of smoke and wood and wild flowers. At the far end of the feasting hall, his throne was waiting for them.

Éomer looked again at his queen and she lifted her face. Her eyes were wide again and she looked excited now instead of solemn, her cheeks flushed and light of stars shining in her gaze. His family was home at last and all was well.

"Ready?" he asked her, and she gave him a brilliant smile.

"Let's go", said Lothíriel and she held his hand tightly.

Together, they stepped into the Golden Hall.

* * *

Lothíriel's first months as the Queen of Rohan were about as overwhelming as she had expected. The departure of the funeral guests did not bring much relief to the rush of new things: each day, it seemed she was learning something she hadn't known before. Often she was too busy to miss her family too painfully; they had left with the other guests, but Father at least would be back when the child was born. Their farewells were bittersweet, but Lothíriel could tell the parting was harder for him than it was for her. After all, she had so many novel things before her, and there was so much happiness in finally living that life she had dreamed of with Éomer.

Her days passed quickly as she got to know her new home and the people of of Edoras. Her servant friends were usually with her, helping her to settle down in whatever ways they could. Though Lothíriel was rather familiar with the way of life in Rohan, at times the help of her three companions was still necessary. Often she felt their friendship was easier now, because she didn't have to keep secrets from them anymore, and altogether her own mood was lighter than it had usually been during the days of exile. And if Aengifu, Derehild and Saethryd had ever felt awkward to be in the presence of the daughter of a Gondorian prince, no trace of it remained.

There had been one meeting she had warily expected, and that was being formally introduced to her sister-in-law. Lothíriel had never forgotten that Éowyn had considered her a threat to Éomer, and for a time she had feared this would leave the White Lady antagonistic towards her – especially after Éomer's sister had witnessed her pretended betrayal. But her beloved had explained all to his sister, and he had reassured her that Éowyn bore no ill will for her. And so, though there was some awkwardness between them first, Lothíriel was relieved to notice that Éowyn seemed to be willing to at least give her a chance. But at times there was a warning in the tall woman's eyes, and the young queen knew if she ever should be so mad as to hurt the feelings of Éowyn's brother again, it would be her last mistake.

In this new phase of her life there was also certain satisfaction: finally, after such a long standstill, she was able to exercise her skills as the head of the household again, put her mind and abilities truly to use. Éomer had not forgotten her potential either, for often he asked for her opinion in this or that matter of the realm. But he didn't take her words as given – she always needed to explain her point of view and perhaps answer a series of keen questions. Even so, she was pleased when he agreed with her and pursued a solution that had stemmed from her idea. In this way, she found herself more and more involved in the ruling of the land. While it was not easy work, it was a burden they both knew would be easier to bear if it was shared. They knew they both had much to learn, but his Marshals were ever ready to aid them, and in King Elessar and Queen Arwen they had incomparable allies.

Routines of their days were both similar and different to how things had been before: some remained the same, but some were new and unexpected. Duties of the king were not the same as those of a marshal, and he was busier than ever before. Rebuilding had his hands full and often he would have to ride out, and so he travelled examining the villages and meeting with his lords, or pursuing stray bands of orcs. In Meduseld council chambers or the royal study had him tied up from the morning until late hours of the day. And Lothíriel was just as occupied by the tasks of the mistress of the Hall, managing the household and making purchases and meeting those who sought her audience with their concerns. She gave her smiles readily and spoke in Rohirric, and it seemed to her that people grew to appreciate her, if not even like her as days passed. But like before, evenings she spent together with Éomer, relishing in this moment in time when their struggles were past and life spread before them as a good, hopeful thing.

* * *

In October, Lothíriel was delivered of a tiny but healthy girl. The birth was easier than she had expected and she was relieved to see that her child had not received harm from those first, painful days of her pregnancy, or the agony she had lived through before Éomer had found her at her family's villa. When the whimpering newborn was laid on her breast and she gazed in wonder at her child, she remembered her horror at realising she had conceived. But horror was long past and she felt joy and happiness, especially when her beloved horselord finally wrestled his way into the bedchamber and saw his child.

She had never seen him weeping, but when he took his daughter in his arms and held her for the very first time, the young queen saw tears of joy on the face of her king. That was the moment she decided all her pain and suffering had been truly worth _this._

Eventually, they also decided on a name. It was a few days after the childbirth, when Lothíriel was already feeling a bit stronger and she was moving about in their chambers, looking for her hairbrush.

Éomer sat by the window in the clear light of an autumn day, rocking his newborn daughter in his arms, and humming softly under his breath. She recognised the tune as a Rohirric lullaby, and she smiled; there was her husband and her child. And she loved them so much that the extent of it was almost bewildering to comprehend.

He felt her gaze on himself and the baby, and he looked up at her with a smile.

"Love... I never asked. What does Daerien mean?" he inquired suddenly, much to her surprise. This had never come up in their talks before now.

"It means something like 'shadow maiden', depending on how you interpret it", she answered and went to sit by him. The baby was asleep now, lulled to peaceful rest in her father's safe lap. The infant looked so tiny in comparison to Éomer, but he always handled her with utmost care. Just by looking at him with their daughter, she knew he would be a wonderful father, however many more children they would have in the future.

Her king looked straight at her and in his eyes, there was a usually solemn expression, especially considering how he hadn't really stopped smiling since the day their daughter had been born.

"... Nihtmæg. Do you think that is a good enough name for a Princess of the Mark?" he asked her in soft, thoughtful voice.

"It's perfect", Lothíriel simply said, and for whatever reason, her eyes filled with tears. These days, there was so much light in her life that she was sometimes overwhelmed. And she welcomed and enjoyed it fully, for she knew that this happiness would soon enough be balanced out by the challenges of ruling the kingdom and enduring new wars that were sure to come eventually.

She lay her head against the shoulder of her husband and they sat there in sunlight as the Hall around them breathed with life. Éomer kissed the top of her head and spoke again: "She's going to be the most beautiful woman in the Mark. Just like her mother."

"You are so full of nonsense", she told him with a gentle little snort, but even then, she couldn't help but lean closer and kiss him.

* * *

One night, when Nihtmæg was a few weeks old, Lothíriel startled awake from a dream. In it, she had still been Daerien and she had been tasked with scrubbing clean the floor of Éomer's Hall in Aldburg. Yet no matter hard and quick she scrubbed, there was always more to clean, and she never got to see the other side of it.

But as she sat up in her bed and saw her husband on her one side, and her daughter to the other, she remembered again what was what. She was in Meduseld, all disguises had been cast aside, and her family slept peacefully close by. Dreams of being Daerien came less often these days, chased away by the busy life of a queen and a mother. But she supposed the shy little serving maid might still make an occasional appearance, at least until Lothíriel Queen had firmly established herself and the past was left behind for good.

The timing of her waking up proved to be convenient. Nihtmæg shifted in her cradle and whimpered, but the infant did not have a chance to cry out before Lothíriel already lifted the baby into her lap. She slipped her shift open and placed the child against her breast, and sounds of a hungry child were replaced by a soft, contented noise. Sometimes, she would sing while feeding her daughter, but she didn't want to wake up her husband, who slept so deeply next to them.

Or so she thought. For when she glanced at him, she could see he was awake and watching them with half open eyes. Somehow he had not yet grown tired of this, though in the end she decided it was not so odd. The man was much softer inside than he liked to admit.

Even so, Lothíriel smiled and pointed out, "You can go back to sleep, dear heart."

"Hmm. Not yet", Éomer said and looked like he had no intention of going back to sleep. Well, he was a father for the first time, and after another child or two, he would know not to waste a chance to sleep.

She lifted her eyebrows, and his answer to her unspoken question came short and firm.

"I didn't think I'd get to see this", he simply answered as he gazed at her and Nihtmæg, who gurgled away happily, not minding the softly spoken words of her parents.

She didn't know at first what to answer to such a statement; she was well aware how relieved he still was that Father had relented after all.

"We are not going anywhere", she reassured him gently, and she would have reached for his hand hadn't she been busy with Nihtmaeg.

"Aye. Doesn't mean I won't check every now and then, though", he said, leaning his head on his arm as he looked at his wife and daughter. Between them, marriage and living together once more had not changed anything – he was the same man as before, warm and loving and reliable. But some things were new, she had noticed. There was happiness in him, too, the kind she had not perceived during the days of her exile. And the ending of secrecy was a relief for him just as well as it had been for her.

She said teasingly, "So, you're not thinking of writing to my father and demanding him to take us off of your hands?"

Éomer snorted as an answer and sat up so that he could kiss her brow.

"Who is full of nonsense now, Lady Star-eyes?" he asked dryly and silenced her additional remarks with another kiss on her lips.

When Nihtmaeg was fed, her beloved lifted the infant against his shoulder and walked around the chamber, while Lothíriel fetched herself a drink and slipped back in the bed. Now it was her turn to watch and marvel, and think of how only a year ago this image before her eyes would have been the furthest thing from her mind. Éomer hummed softly under his breath, making her wonder if anyone would even believe this warrior king had such tenderness in him. Whether this side had existed in the days before she had known him, she couldn't say. For her, it had always been, and she already knew so it would be for their daughter, too.

He placed the infant back in the cradle when she was asleep, and then Éomer returned to the side of his wife in the bed. He pulled her against himself and she settled there, sighing softly in contentment. Idly she thought of the first time she had woken up in his arms and smiled at the memory. There had been much good about those days, but she was glad to be here and now. And these days, she was finding it easier to think of Meduseld as her home, and moments came less and less often that she'd remember that horrible day when she had stood before Wormtongue, dreading for her dear life and hoping to cheat both him and her beloved.

The hour was silent still and the Hall of the King would sleep for a few hours yet. Then new day would come and new challenges; Éomer would be meeting with a few of his lords from the West-Mark, and Lothíriel would be making plans for the upcoming visit of her father. If she had time around afternoon, she was hoping to go riding with her maids, as all four of them were still getting to know their new home. And by the end of the day, he would join her and Nihtmaeg again, and hours would pass in a kind of tranquillity and trustfulness they had only dared to imagine in those last, desperate days before he had ridden away to hunt the band of uruk-hai.

"Lothíriel?" Éomer spoke suddenly, his voice soft and warm. Thoughts of past days and those still ahead fell from her mind, bringing her fully into this moment.

"Yes, love?" she asked him, keeping her voice low as to not disturb their daughter.

"I am happy", he murmured as the hold of his arms grew tighter around her. She lifted her head so that she could kiss him and then settled down again, her ear against the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

"As am I", she whispered, smiling to herself. Strange was life, that such a path as hers would eventually lead to this place, to sharing her life with the king of a fierce people of horsemen. There he had stood at her door on the night of the storm... but she was content, and knew that here she could be and do much more than she had ever imagined in a life that now seemed distant and unfamiliar. The sheltered girl who had been so afraid and lonely had made way to a brave woman who shined.

Dreams beckoned her now and Lothíriel decided to follow them, letting the even sound of Éomer's breathing lull her back to sleep; she had her husband and daughter and all was well in her corner of the world.

They were home.

* * *

… _some beginnings are endings and some endings become beginnings. - Capheus, "Sense8"_

 **THE END**

* * *

 **A/N:** I hate finishing stories. Especially long ones, where you grow attached to the characters, laugh and cry with them, and watch them go through their struggles. You just want the story to go on forever, even though you know it can't. I think this is a good time to bring the tale to a close: conflicts have been resolved and our lovers are happy.

I have enjoyed writing _A Long and Winding Road_ very much and I know I'm going to miss it. Hopefully, it has been a delightful read for you, my dear readers. I thank each and every one of you for sticking along, for favouriting the story and leaving comments. Words cannot describe how much reviews mean to me and how helpful they can be in figuring out the story.

I will continue to publish _Heart of a Queen,_ and I also have a new story idea in the drafts that I will bring forth sooner or later. So, until my next update, thank you once more!

* * *

 **Tibblets -** Indeed! They have struggled for so long. I hope you liked her reunion with her friends! :)

 **EStrunk -** Thank you! I'm glad you liked those things, and I must say the smitten flirting was very fun to write!

 **Anon -** It was long overdue indeed! They do deserve to be happy after everything that's happened. :)

 **coecoe11 -** Oh, thank you! I'm glad if I was able to convey the moment so very well! :)

 **eschscholzia -** It was rather necessary, after how they weren't going to be able to have a proper wedding. But you are right (and Éomer thinks so too) that she's very suited to be a queen.

 **sailor68 -** Happy to hear that! I really enjoyed writing that scene. :) And indeed, they do deserve happiness!

 **Guest -** Thank you! :)

 **Jo -** I hope it was a great concert. :) Well, after how they've struggled, I had no choice but to make it work out! :D

 **Nerdanel -** Thanks! Good to hear I've been able to make sense of my plot. And I suppose this chapter answers for how long this will be!

 **Wondereye -** I thought so too. :)

 **Anon -** I did think of writing such content for this chapter, but everything just felt so resolved to me already, I thought it would have unnecessarily prolonged an already finished story. Hopefully the part describing her new life at least suggests something of the sort. No doubt Lothíriel has much to learn, but on the other hand she's ready for it, too. She has all that she needs to make it work.


End file.
